(The) CanyonSwing
by blueblood-ballet
Summary: In our universe there are terrible, beautiful things. One such is the opulent Poise. Tied by her past to a barren world overrun with carrion creatures, she lives in steady peace upon M6-117, acting as ageless guardian of the desert and its inhabitants- until unexpected cargo arrives with one group of bumbling crashlanders. A Furyan convict. A new kind of challenge. Riddick X OC
1. Prologue

She is curled in the corner of a pile of bones, murmuring hymns and nodding her head slowly to the gentle lyrics. She keeps her fingers busy with a sharp scrap of charcoal and an ancient journal. Chalky black swirl after swirl pours along the weathered page. A dark, shapeless cloak is wrapped around her slim shoulders. Her knees are bunched under it as well, hugged to her chest and supporting the journal. Her eyes are lowered, but iridescent streaks of peaceable indigo peek through heavy lashes.

A blue-tinted sun sinks cheerlessly above her, wave upon wave of burnt sand cast into the auburn light of the remaining two. The harsh reds haven't reached her crescent of boneyard yet, but they crawl close as the blue retreats.

And then the humming of her hymns suddenly ceases. She is still, but for one steady finger flipping the cover back over her journal. She remains so- journal balanced on her knees, knees resting on her chest, chest unmoving- for perhaps half of a minute. Seconds pass with the sun, losing sight of the woman and the bones as they cross the horizon. Her eyes narrow, brows furrow, teeth worry at her lip.

Slowly, and with a rash of hesitance, she reaches one pale hand out from the shadow of the hulking, sickled rib curled around her. Soft splashes of blue play across her palm as the first sun finally dies. She glances at the reflections on her skin just as red takes over and blankets the desert in full. One sun has set. Two have reached their peaks. All is as it probably ever was.

Still, unease burns under her veins. She checks her palm once more and withdraws the hand, flexing her fingers thoughtfully. She whispers to herself.

"There was a disturbance. I felt it in the light.. Didn't I?"

A soft 'hm' drifts after her musing words.

"A disturbance.."

Everything seems to be sudden with Poise.

She uncurls herself in a single sharp motion and stands, holding her journal at her side. Tucking it away into her skirt band and indifferently discarding the charcoal in her other hand, she surveys the dunes that stretch along the cliff she's positioned beneath. She shrugs, letting the cloak slip from her frame and securing it in her fist. It swishes impatiently, tsk-tsk, along the rugged ground.

As the cloak falls away, her elegant form is revealed to the skies, wrapped in a light chestnut-colored sort of romper. It's a pretty dress, but it's strange and it's eerie. Precisely one-hundred and twenty-seven scraps of sandy fabric comprise it, long strips that were all stitched together and stretch across her shoulders into sleeves that leave the top of them bare, a corset that circles her back and crosses itself at her chest, forming a sharp v-neck, and all that melts down into a skirt that swirls over in more crosses, tight on her thighs. It leaves some of her stomach and neck and limbs exposed, but she's proud of it. Each cloth is a prize, a momento taken from some creature she's had her dealings with, or at least one of their long dead ships she watched fall into her planet's traps and splinter. Her hair is soft, unnaturally, for she is not a natural being. It rustles smoothly in the dry winds, every inch a reminder of the years she's spent on the Ruined Once-Eden.

With a harsh pivot of her arm, she whips the cloak over her head, catching it in her other hand as well (the black of the charcoal staining her palm smears into nothing against the black of the fabric). Making sure to cover even the flesh of her thin fingers, she cautiously steps from the bones, sunlight hungrily surrounding her bubble of darkness.

A pause..

And from then on, her footfall is fast.

She takes off like a nightmare- skeletal, yet impossibly full of prospects and promises and pride. Her gown trails in the wind. Her hair is caught in a frenzy, but as she finds her ballet balance, its torrents smooth into a single flowing flag of charred brown. As does her flight. She runs to an unheard staccato, a secret rhythm, a song only her wicked senses can sense. Each step is like a letter in a code. That's just how dancers are.

Her feet are bare, for that's not just the best way to run in sand; it is the only way.

She skims along the now shimmering auburn ground, bounding over pale bones and ducking under empty, enormous tunnels of rib and skull. Under the fleeting shadows of the largest cluster of bones (not a scientist alive would have been able to identify the beasts they once supported) in the yard, she lets the cloak drop from her occasionally tiring hands, dragging it, until the shade ends and, in a shower of crystals, the cloak flies back up like a bleak emblem.

The hymns begin again. She murmurs much, alone on her planet, but for the army sleeping beneath her feet. Her words are soft under her breath.

"Oh my Lord, don't forsake me.."

She sings herself along.

"When desert and hunger take me.."

When she reaches the crags of the canyon wall, she takes an animalistic leap, verses swirling with the cloak in her wake.

"Lay me.."

Her hands contort into painful claws, reaching for the rock.

"_Down_!" She sings happily, nails sinking into the solid stone with ease, shards dribbling from the hollows she gouges out. The cloak falls slowly back over her, skewered to the wall like a curtain. She laughs and jams her claws higher, feet following agilely. Footholds are carved into the wall every few inches. She pulls herself up, dangles, catches hold of a hook, and seeks another weak spot in the sandstone. With each crack and splinter, she pushes higher up the wall, brushing away any traces of exhaustion until she's reached the dusty top of the BoneCanyon.

If you were to watch from the horizon, you'd see five petite fingers, weighed down by some animal's claws and caught in a black cloak's fabric, scrabbling along the sheer edge of the desert. They'd slow at a certain patch of abrasion and, with a screech, drag along the ground until they were anchored. And soon a pale arm would follow- and a crown of chestnut hair- an elegant, vain nose and eyes and lips- another hand, another arm... And Poise hefts herself gracefully over the canyon's edge. She supports her body with rigid arms while her leg searches for solid ground, lifting around the edge and bracing to stand. So she does- she stands. Over five and three quarters feet, to be exact.

"Mm. Now..." She ponders between breaths. The cloak swishes around her ankles, finally at rest. She blows a lock of hair from the trap of her lashes. Sight free of abstractions, she plans.

"Yes, that's right.." she continues softly, breath catching fast. She is a versatile creature. "If there's something in the sky as the blue sun is going down, it came in very far from the east." She nods craftily, seemingly pleased with her own logic. "West we go.. West.."

She starts off on another easy lope, tracing the Bone Canyon's West edge, huddled under her parasol. Every once in a while, she'll spin. Face lifted and breaking into an unnerving but sweet, bright smile, eyes shutting in contentment, she'll do a turn and a half and then keep walking, to an invisible rhythm, a fluctuating kind. She has perhaps seven minutes until the Perch is in sight- it's a rough mile of a journey in the sands. She travels with care, feet seeking clear and cooled strips of sand. She hums and she thinks of a name for a certain Edenistic baby she believes is due to be born today in the Perch. Maybe Cricket, she thinks, maybe Skim.

And it is perhaps five minutes into her passing that she sees it.

It was a simple slash of irritated white at first, a mere stitch in a falling-apart sky. She'd noticed it, blamed a stray cloud for the faraway trail of smoky paleness. A small disturbance. The disturbance she felt.

Oh, but now.

Ah, but _now_!

The trail has wound on, reaching the horizon rapidly. And its cause..

A massive, bleeding ship.

The waves of air in turmoil rumble and pound across the desert, pummeling the sand into sweeping waves and a hurricane of hoarse symphonies. It is marvelous! It is hulking, looming, leering from the pathetic clouds, huge and close, and coming closer! This it does in slow, dangerous spirals, careening down to the Planet, swept about in nauseating swirls by the fiery atmosphere. A cargo ship, the very best kind, laden with life and other things to steal- but Poise is a thief of life above a thief of all other things.

"Wounded.." she whispers. The great glasses, splintering mirrors, sear with rapid cycles of light as they fall. The masses of metals on the ship slip and groan. It sinks ever more in great sickening loops, and she can see terrified shadows pressing against every thick window. "Heavens, and how. You're _wounded_.." Beating palms. Here and there. She stares, filling with too many feelings to let her body relax. She is close, but not for long. The thing is ripped far away from her sight within seconds.

She stares, still.

After the silence has finally eased back into place, she makes a soft, thoughtful sound.

And when she can move again, she blinks, wringing her cloak with excitement, and she grins wide.

Her run begins again, twice as fast and so very urgent.


	2. Chapter 1- The Summons

There's a trick to deserts.

If you can taste the heartbeat under its shifting hide and time the winds just right, your steps will fall, if they can fall fast, on the swift ripples of cool sand that fluctuate with the pulsing.

My ankles strain, toes rigid and tense with dark dancer's instinct, hitting the shifting ground like fingers playing along a flute- eerily precise, and precisely so. The impact, each beat, drums through my thin soul. There's a trick to deserts, if you can balance the thrum of your mind and the impact of your feet in each jarring step. If you know the desert. If you know it from predator to prey.

My parasol writhes above me, pretty and translucent in the sun. What parasol could ever compare to mine? That which turns a deadly light into beauty and shade and guides me quick across the dunes- that which can only be the clever cloak I hold.

Below the shadow of my parasol is featureless sand, churned into the lonely prints of my bare feet. One meaningless path winds ever on along the graves of every other meaningless path I've trod for thousands of years. Memories of my toes have been buried long since by the winds of the hailed nights and rare gales. Ah, the night. It isn't far. It's nearly but two days from now. The taste of perpetual cool breezes, the symphony of creatures freed from the seething watch of our merciless suns, skin hitting rain and darkness and eyes hitting everything, everything, drinking in the sights of this planet cast into wondrous night... Only two days.

Well, should you even wish to measure in the way of 'days' any more.

Yes, I think when I run. I think of the beauty of my parasol, the beauty of rain, the beauty of song and then, always, that of the night. Perhaps it's all that can give meaning to otherwise meaningless steps- the night I run for. So close. We all feel it.

The stretch is drawing to a close as I think. The mile between the Canyon and the Perch is fleeting in my thoughts.

I slow, twisting to the right to dodge a jagged spire of sandstone. More dot the horizon, clustering at the end of the sand and the beginning of the crags. Oh, I have so much to tell them- the slumbering creatures that rest beneath these crags, that is. A last hope. A final game before they must slumber again.

In a shower of pale grains, I skid to a halt, my parasol enveloping me from behind, pushed by the force of my stop. I sip the air as quietly as I can, regaining the rhythm of my lungs.

I have reached the outskirts of the Perch, where, as I said, the sand ends. My fingertips graze the rough piles of rock. Each lazy step of mine means taller forms, jagged against the sun, longer shadows, as they steadily rise above the desert. My toes sink in the ground, buried and released with a whisper. Dry breaths play across the landscape. The pulse has slowed- no, the planet. Slowed to a sleepy stumble. The golden hour of the Pitch Black Planet is upon us, all of us, my army and me.

I sigh, eyes closing for a brief second of rest. My run here was supposed to be soft, but the crash I witnessed- I had always promised it would happen!- had turned a stroll into a frantic rush.

And, after all, I need momentum- great momentum!- to bridge the gap between featureless earth and the Underworld.

The center of the Perch draws nearer. An auburn sun creeps just as slowly in the ruptured sky, its pearly, paler sister not far behind. The hush descends, so thick in the fast-asleep bowels of the Perch.

With a snap of my eyelids, I break it.. And..

I force myself into the fastest run yet, barely touching the ground, heart and lungs completely halted for the insane second of speed. My skin burns, sand erupts in my wake. And before me, something else..

The Branch of the Perch yawns into view, simply the center, tumbling into a chasm.

The only entrance.

My parasol writhes like a frenzied pair of wings in my hands. Can I fit one final step in before the ground disappears and the many veins of the Underworld envelop me in darkness? One? I shift! I tilt! My toes hit the hard, grey rock that has been uncovered around the edges of the hole, thank God, praise the Eternal, Beautiful God! for one last step.

Again, I leap. Higher than the BoneCanyon, legs curling under me, skirt rippling, parasol thrown back like a twisted neck, seething like blood, black blood! Hair released from gravity, it seems, swirling above me, rampant! Fingers tight around the only thing they can hold, cloth, black cloth. I am caught in crescendo! I am in flight, in freedom. I have leapt, throwing myself directly above the Branch, the endless Branch.

Descent! I can feel terrific, terrifying descent. Gravity twists my parasol around me, eases my legs into straight arrows, brings the darkness up and out and encasing me like a sweet, soft petal of space-time, the place I see best.

I hit the cold rock of the Inner Branch, braced to meet the ceaseless wiring of hollow tubes within it. It isn't a steep drop- not yet. I slide carefully, shifting to ease myself closer to the right wall. I balance on the side of my hip, one hand tense just above the surface of the wall. I count the entrances carved there- one whooshes by. Two. Three. I can feel the absence of wall under my palm. As I approach the fourth..

My arm rockets out, claws securing on the edge of the hole. Just in time, I'm yanked to a stop. My bare legs dangle over the abyss that the tunnel falls eventually and unavoidably into, parasol hanging exhaustedly beside them, stinging against the frigid surface of stone touched by nothing but shade. I wince, teeth clenched in an equally cold and lightless sneer.

A faint cooing creeps from the hollow, settling in my hair, my clothes, like love, like love and rain. My pain melts into strength and I swing my other arm up to the ledge for a better grip. I set my jaw, brace my icy feet against the wall, and begin to hoist myself up. The sounds above heighten, grow into excited purrs and tiny rumbles in tiny lungs. I laugh and finish dragging my legs over the edge. I peer into the dark pocket of air...

Just as three clumsy, heart-wrenchingly small creatures tumble towards me. They seethe like a puddle left in the sand outside, under the sun, boiling and overheated with energy. I kneel, at a safe distance from the edge, siting on my heels, and spread my hands out to greet them. Their shapes become increasingly discernible as they collide with me, chirping and scrambling. I run my fingers along each hammerhead ridge, and trace the rest of their heads, which spike off into sharp triangles, armor around their sharper still minds. They writhe in ecstasy, clashing consistently and at war for attention. One bashes another from my hands and shoves their nose into my fingers, wriggling and chirping in staccato excitement.

A few seconds and I can pick a certain baby out. I scoop him from the mess of spines and coos. I lift him to my face, peering at his chipped hide. His call rings through the rest, piercingly high, sounding like a jagged arrow whistling through a pale sky.

I twist my wrists to spin him on his armored belly, observing the tail now lovingly entwining around my arm.

"You've healed nicely, Chinx.." I laugh softly. Only an orderly spattering of dull white scars remain of the splinter his tail used to be. Chinx, the tiny devil! the clever little snake! the adventurous, ever adventurous baby-bio. He chitters a happy response, uncoiling the tail in question and swishing it about in pride.

He ought to be pleased, even grateful to our good God, for it was a treacherous fall he took to earn those scars. He had just passed his third starcycle that day (funny, he's nearing his fourth now). With barely developed claws, he decided to drag his small body up to the ceiling of his Nest, proceeding to crawl away above his families' very noses in a disguise of rocky ceiling shade. All the way to the entrance of the Nest, he explored. He began a precarious journey along the steep slide of the Branch(that which I myself just used, but to travel safely downwards), squeaking joyously, reaching for the next handhold, slipping, crying, tumbling in freefall to the coarse depths of the Underworld with his feeble, unused wings...

He landed on his tail, weeping, and it snapped in a most unnatural fashion, tailspine cutting through the weak skin. It was then that we found him. Chy, such a sweet mother! swooped easily after him, and we cradled him back up to the Nest. I spent hours, mending that splintered tail. It seems Chinx, however, was as coarse as the world around him. He's ever so energetic today.

...

_Terms to know for this chapter.._

_Underworld: the vast network of bioraptor homes and hidey holes below the 'Pitch Black' planet's surface._

_Which includes and is not limited to.._

_•The Perch: where approx. 7 families nest, located to the west of the BoneCanyon. Entered via The Branch, a tunnel that opens into the desert._

_•The Hollows: where approx. 17 families nest, located to the east of the BoneCanyon. Entered via tunnel networks beneath various hills._

_•The Chamber: where approx. 56 families nest, located in the designated 'middle' of M6-117. Located to the west of the BoneCanyon. Entered via Canyon-Swing._

_•The Beds: where approx. 5 families nest, located in the ruins of various ships. Entered via any portholes or breaches in the hulls._

_The BoneCanyon: a huge graveyard containing the bleached remains of all the animals the 'raptors have eaten into extinction._

_The Canyon Swing: a mystery for now._

_M6-117 is the planet's technical name. It is part of the M-344/G system. However, for my purposes, I use the name Once-Eden._

_(Good old Riddick and Poise. You have no idea the plans I have for them.)_

_Talk to me, loves! What are your thoughts so far?_

_Love,_

_Tuesday_


	3. Chapter 2- The Secret

I've replaced Chinx within the cluster of his brothers. They snap like beggars, prancing around my ankles, snagging my dress and playing tug of war with my parasol- I don't mind. Indeed! How could I? I can count them, five- Cricket, Cauliflower, Cornflower, Carnation, and then Chinx.

Trailing safe behind my heels, they follow me slowly into the dark hollows of the Nest.

I pad quietly, swaying on my toes so as to keep sight of the entire den. Each blink reveals a clearer picture- the rims of my strange pupils adjust perplexingly quickly beneath my eyelids. I reach a sufficient alcove and extract my journal from the waistline of my skirt. With calm, gentle movements, I place it snugly in the nook, on a shelflike ridge, beside three small makeshift-blades and a long dry, chapped, grey little waterjug. Ah, and at the soft swish of a page brushing the rocks..

She appears.

Accompanied by a dark rasp of scales on stone, she yawns and unfurls, jaws stretching in time with her wings and trembling arms. Cool saliva coats her needle-teeth, a good sign that their Nest hasn't became too hot, and her tail feels blindly around the cavern. Chy, nursing the five babies alone in her rickety Nest, barely safe from the dangers of the surface, but surviving with her admirable instincts and bravery, acts often as a main messenger for me, or a ready ride, should I need to risk it. The last of her offspring will be ready to follow her soon- but by then, night will fall. The eclipse.

I exhale, knowing by practice that I must be small, little more than a ghostly sound to their trained ears. Chy seems to copy me, sending a stream of breath from her own throat in an inquisitive, sleepy coo. The daggers decorating her fingers click when she steps slowly towards me. She knows me well- so well. But still, she is no baby. She is a powerful, predatory beast. A dragon, in such a confined space.

"You're all starving," I begin, speaking low, just talking so she can identify me. "It's been a while, mm?"

I lift my hand into the fragile space between the creature (the lovely creature) and I. Chy's great, long head tilts, her bony skull becoming harshly illuminated by the distant light of the tunnel. I exhale again.

"But I've got a story for you," I whisper. I close my eyes and reach..

My pale palm connects flawlessly with the ridge of her grey hammerhead.

"There, see?" I laugh, still calmly. The effect takes over beautifully. Chy's tension dissolves, the twitches in her body slowing, fading. She purrs, sinking to the ground under my fingers, allowing me to kneel in the little circlet of her resting tail. "I've run this whole way to tell you." The juveniles bound towards us, two forcing their ways onto my lap and three embarking upon a climb over their mother's spiny back. "Yes," I grin, "All of you."

I release Chy from immobility. She nuzzles Cornflower and rattles her ribs, sending Chinx and Carnation slipping down her flanks. I lift the squirming two to my chest, glancing up at a tug in my hair. Cricket is exploring the crown, and Cauliflower is hanging precariously from my shoulder. All is calm, their attentions captured. It is time I begin.

"Posy had to run across the hot sand."

At the low tone of my voice, they all go still, heads resting in my hands or on the floor.

"She only had her parasol today." I twist the parasol from beneath Cricket's paws and laugh quietly. Too sweet, are these babies, is this family.

"And, oh, it was warm," I whisper, drawing the cloth around us all with the air of a professional storyteller.

"But I had to come!" I bow my head over clasped fingers. "I had to tell you. I saw it."

The creatures tense, some of the babies growling, the mother utterly silent.

"A ship, I promise you!" My voice is barely audible and it quivers with the impending thrill of it all, and they know what it means. "A last hope. A final game. They're here. They've come for us, just as God told me and I told you, my loves. And I will play for you, my loves, and you will feast for one last time."

Chy raises her head in excitement, rumbling into the air, while her jittery offspring squirm and emit sharp, jubilant rings and whistles.

The joy of another roll of the dice is infectious. I laugh with them, louder, swearing to The Lord, "I promise you."

Exuberantly, I stand, retting the parasol so that I may ride and my vessel will be safely covered as well. I swing my legs over Chy's back, sitting so that I don't disturb her wings and I don't fall, for I'm secure near her neck. All five younglings galavant around her ankles as she rises, herself. Cauliflower and Corn and Cricket and Carnation and, as always, Chinx- each receives a gentle stroke from the tip of their mother's forked tongue. She creeps towards the edge, click click. I'm only cumbersome while the weight is balanced on her thin limbs, but when we reach the sky! Weightless. Both of us.

"We deliver the news, little loveys.." I tell the babies. "And we bring Chy back to you and we wait for mistress Poise to let heaven loose on this land.."

I turn back to face the tunnel, laying completely on Chy's dry-skin back, arms secure around her neck and parasol around mine like a cape. I hook my legs around her ribs as she leaps off the edge and curls hers as well, my toes fitting perfectly into hers, which curl up into the flight position her limbs take, close to her chest. My chin rests between her shoulders. Dank wind courses through my senses as we free fall, Chy heralding the news of the ship to all her relatives in the Branch, cries echoing eerie against the cool walls.

And then! a spiral, a cacophony of answering calls spinning around us both, a swish and our faces are tilted to the blinding sky, and we take it on faith and we rush towards the searing white, and suddenly I remember..

As we hurtle into the clouds, leave the Underworld far behind..

I remember that I've left my journal behind.

The parasol fans out, enveloping us in cold safety- safety isn't sure if it's lukewarm- and her wings rise and fall once, rippling under my body, making me squeal with exhilaration.

"On to the Hollows, Chy!" I sing, demand, decide. "And then we'll seep through the tunnels there and we'll hit the Chamber! And we'll take three of their best warriors, tie them up in my parasols, and send two to the Beds and take one with us to the Swing, to the Canyon-Swing.."

I pause for a second, and we're already higher than the tallest of the crags..

"And in the end, when we take our spoils, we take them to you, and I'll get my journal back."

I softly tap on the right ridge of her head, so that her course shifted towards the Hollows. I know this land by heart. I always will.

"Let us pray, Chy.." I whisper. I can hear her quiet returning rumble.

"God, the plan is set. Let the Conditioning continue. Let Chy prosper- her family. Let the Canyon ring with their satisfaction, the throes of their prize, the words of Your praise, the eclipse.." I smile, Chy loops in midair. "My mission is Your word. So speak, Lord!" My eyes narrow. My heart beats in tune with her wings.

"Amen."

…

_Tonic immobility is a sharky thing, during which the sharky enters a sleep like state induced by pets on its snoutsie or somebody turning it belly up. I would think it would work on bios, too ;)_

_Love, Tues_


	4. Chapter 3- Break Sanctuary

Windy above the Hollows, isn't it?

Weak clouds are strung across the two red suns, shredded by the smoky trail the ship has left in my sky (that which was, as this whole world was, most certainly made just for me). It has hurtled across the tops of the Hollows only recently, probably downed somewhere close to the Canyon, closer to the Chambers. I click my tongue, tapping the tip of Chy's spiked head thrice, signaling to swoop lower over the pockets and ditches that form this region of sanctuary.

I shift my body, peering over the crests of her wings at the hills. Small triangular noses can be spotted, cautiously peeking from the sand, trying to get a glimpse of the disturbance above their colony, only succeeding in shrieking angrily at the light that burns them back into the Hollows. They're sheer black against the sparkling orange waves of sand. These are the inhabitants of the smaller burrows- the real fortress is a bit deeper underground.

I shake my head slightly and solemnly, drumming my fingers until Chy has glided the entire way to the top of the central raised vein of Hollow. It is simply a mound of desert that marks our target, one of many raised trails that conjoin at a dead mountain, somewhere ahead of us. She hisses as her claws sink into the forbiddingly, powerfully heated sands. I disembark. I plan to reach this mountain from below the ground.

"Remember to keep your tail under the parasol this time, Chy," I remind her scoldingly. "There's only so much cloth and ever so much skin."

The trailing tendrils of my own dress slither after me. I stroke her flank consolingly, gathering a portion of parasol in my other hand, and lead her quickly onwards towards the gaping shade of the entrance below. We trip down the side of the hill to find the cave mouth it conceals. Now, entering the Hollows is a bit more of a trick than entering the Nests...

We slip under the cover of the overhang. If I didn't have Chy, I'd have to whistle up another ride to escort me through the labyrinth before us. A great, treacherous palace, all masked under one inconspicuous hill.

A spiderweb of craggy natural bridges and stalagmites sprawls at our feet, distant calls rebounding furiously off of every sandstone surface. Chy cringes, but she knows that the sun is no better of an option than facing the creatures of the Hollow vein we are about to enter. We pause here on the edge of it all- on the cliff that drops away into this complicated chamber. Each of the mounds out here in the seemingly devoid scape lead to varying tunnels and bowls, but none so huge as this, the center of the burrows. Some sleepy bioraptors hang batlike from the ceilings, some clutch the walls, some are curled around spires. They are elders, however. The warriors are gathered deeper, beyond this initial cave.

"Right, lovey.. you have to be brave," I decisively murmur to Chy. She cooes suspiciously at the elders regarding us silently from their perches. "And ignore them, they are only here to sleep and die. Now, the sequence we must fly is harsh.. but I have it memorized like the Bible.."

Indeed I do. We shall take off into the space between the first row of spires. Hard right into a looped formation of rock behind them. Sheer dive into the underside of a massive bridge that winds behind the loop, then sheer rise above its twin bridge. Land on the twin. It leads straight to the next cave, where most of the Hollow residents subsist and hibernate. Also featuring a tiny spring and centuries-old collected pool of warm water.

It's safer to be sheltered under Chy than to lay on her back as she navigates the spiked ceilings and walls- so. I untie the parasol from her neck and instead twist it around her body, standing to the side and holding both ends of the cloth. I will be pulled after her while she flies, but I'll be held close to her torso and safe under her wings. She'll be used like a hanglider, the parasol like the handles, me like a sailer.

"Trust me. Do what I tell you. And be fast, faster than the planets surrounding us, faster than that ship that fell," I command. She gives me an acknowledging whistle. "And fly!"

Chy leaps joyfully into the chasm, throwing herself over the edge. I swing below her, my form straight against hers, what a good girl she is, what a good pet! She hurtles through the spires like a black, poisonous dagger through sharpening stones. And from there.. A violent twist, crushing me with momentum against her cold underbelly armor.. Her wings flutter nervously. We plunge through the next arch of rock and emerge face to face with the solid, cruel mass of the first bridge.. I yank the parasol, and Chy plummets down! Her limbs are wrapped around me, holding me to her chest. I tug again, sending her straight up between the gap of this bridge and the one that winds right next to it, and over the surface of the twin we level out..

Chy relaxes, preparing to land on the path. I let the parasol go and drop before her, smiling. "Well done, sweet, very well done! It'd be quite the shame if you'd crashed and we had to climb all the way up a wall and start over." She purrs proudly as I rub her nose. "Come now, time to greet your neighbors.."

A drifting breeze laps the cave, laden, heavy, filled, with a growing pulse of relieved cheers and chirps. We've been recognized. I pull Chy along the bridge, avoiding the pockets of sun that still managing to infiltrate the Hollow even through the maze we've come from. I release the parasol, remove it from her back, and wrap it around my own shoulders. We reach the rough steps that end the bridge, leading into the center of Hollows.

The attitude chills wickedly as the Hollow bioraptors' calls echo and rebound off of Chy's foreboding form. The scent of her Nest hangs around her. She gurgles fearfully.

I shush her and descend down the steps. The beauty of the place steals my breath immediately- it's been a long time.

A glossy pool blankets sheer black rock, turning the whole sparkling chalice of water into a midnight sky. Raptors soar over it, shepherding younger ones into flight, arcing with a graceful intelligence above the lake. Cliffs of the same dark sediment jut over it as well. The ceiling practically drips with spikes and skewers, so they can never really fly as high as they yearn to. The activity soon ceases, though...

An array of younglings break away from their wary groups, winding around my feet, parents bristling in the shadows, but backed respectfully against the hard packed sand that fades into igneous rock. I reach out continuously as we advance, single-handedly calming each creature whose nose connects with my fingers, whispering the favored hymns of the Hollows and keeping Chy close to my back. She lowers her head and remains quiet.

We reach the edge of the water, on guard but unscathed. I shoo the infants back into their colony. I climb atop Chy, standing with my parasol twisted, ready to lash anything that tries to claw or snip at her. I draw in the cold cave air and forge it into cold speech.

"My prized warriors! Sent here to train. To fly through almost everything under our suns- through water, through ground, safe from light." The raptors cluster around us, still uneasy, but forgetting it as they wander in the midst of my voice. The voice they'd learned to obey, to love, to seek even in daylight if it called for them. I shudder. Breaking from my thoughts, I regain the post of commandeering.

"My unearthly butterflies," I continue (for that is one of many names they've been called in the throes of many victims' deaths). "There has been a ship."

Chy echoes- "a ship! a ship!" she seems to say- and the terse attention dissipates completely into a whirlwind of jittery excitement that sweeps through the cave, no, that washes through like moonlight..

"My precious tempters! Tempters of shadow!" I call, lips bursting in a sonorous smile. "I'm taking Fiend! I'm taking Marrow! And Sugar will tag along!" The named raptors bound, growling fiercely, from the semi-circle of listeners, jostled forth by the comrades who recognize their names and scents and offer them up to duty. Well, Sugar doesn't leap to attention, per say. She sort of stumbles, confused. Sugar is deaf. It leaves her no way to see or hear, but she can feel through me, and I've kept her alive all these sightless, soundless years. Why shouldn't I choose her this day?

"Where to?" I bellow, chest caving with effort, lungs full and empty and full, spine bending so I can lean towards them all...

"To the Chambers!"

They cheer, tussling with the energetic, frenzied rhythm that underlies every life on this world, gnawing on air and lashing their tails.

I kneel atop Chy, nudging her flank with my heel to guide her towards the water. "Fly to the cliff." She rises carefully, as there are rampant babies jumping around the cave by the hundreds. She lets out rolling call after call, navigating the Hollow, latching onto the towering spire in the center of the lake. Shards of broken rock sift through her claws and plink into the depths.

I dismount upon the small, rickety area of the top, telling Chy, "When I have them all, catch me and we'll ride."

I hang down from the tip, find a ledge, balance, and drop. The spire is (shockingly) hollow inside, and is almost like a seashell in shape- in the narrow center, it has a spiral not unlike a staircase. I pad quickly downwards, running my hand on the inner wall until I find the first alcove. My fingers meet lacy lilac fabric- one of the ten emergency parasols I store in this clever little 'closet'. I increase my pace, seizing three more from their hooks and domes in the wall- periwinkle, violet, multicolored quilt. The staircase ends with a sheer drop into open air in the middle of the spire- it melts into the wall eventually, and the safest place to leave the closet is the arch I'd carved I the wall.

I snap my fingers to call Chy, hanging by my other hand from the arch and over the water. She releases the spire tip, twisting from the rock and plummeting down to me. I push off into the air and land on her back.

"Up, Marrow! Fiend! Sugar!" I call, safely settling on Chy. They soar towards us, Sugar guided by the motion, seen off by a crowd of hopeful families, over the bank, over the lake, coasting all around. I kneel on Chy's plated back, breathe thrice, detach one parasol and spring, arcing into the air and landing by my toes on Fiend, sinking immediately to steady myself. Such goes the art of raptor jumping- time it right, and you're all in the air, and you need to get a blanket around each of their necks in time.. Well. You're going to have to jump.

"Here you are, lovey.." I knot my cargo around Fiend. He shakes his slim body, feeling the shade cover him reassuringly. "Angle yourself above Marrow, there, sweet.." I encourage, shifting my weight so he squeaks in compliance and veers to the spot above his fellow. I single out another parasol, the patchy quiltish thing, and slip over Fiend's side to land on Marrow.

"Saved the thick one for you, troublemaker, doesn't matter how far into the sun you sneak, you're not getting scalded this time," I laugh, double knotting Marrow's new cape. He growls, but twitches his spine so as to get the cloak more comfortable against his scales. "Now, just one more to go. Lower, Marrow, so your wings just touch Sugar's," I order. He tips his great head and drifts down near Sugar. I launch myself then to her back.

She chitters excitedly, arching in the air like a watersnake. I hurriedly curl the remaining parasol, the prettiest and most protective (besides, of course, mine) around her throat. I angle my head close to her's, speaking over the rush of flight, "Sweet little Sugar, you follow the scent of my perfume.." Though she can't truly hear the order, she can sense its weight. I tug a vial from my top, halting Sugar mid-flutter to uncap it. I reach, holding the strong, dahlia scented liquid under her nose. She clicks her jaw in acknowledgment. Sprinkling a few precious drops along my wrist, neck, and strands of my hair, I spur her back into motion. We cut across the ring of flyers to reach Chy. I swing both legs over to the side and drop.

We've circled the cave numerous times now, gathering speed. Speed for our departure- for, while there is but one entrance to the Hollow, there are many exits, if you know all the secrets of the spires of this place. Nothing here is solid- not the cliffs. Not the towers. Not the will of the raptors. Nothing. One entrance, many exits.

The ceiling curls inches from my head, even as I rest against Chy's back, fixing my eyes warily up on the stalactites. We dare not rise further.

Well..

Not until we've centered the group beneath the dark hole in the cave top. This falls upwards into an increasingly narrow peak, a Hollow peak, that juts above the flat desert sand that covers this world. It's easy to fly out of, nigh impossible to dive into. I suspect, from the black igneous that this cave is forged from and the eerie formations, that this tunnel used to be the throat of a volcano. A desert volcano. And the raptors have made one of their homes in the belly of the thing- once churning with a patchy mass of blindingly white-hot pockets and dark pits of charred magma, leaving in its lingering memory a melting sanctuary.

We are about to break sanctuary, though!

I tilt my chin to graze Chy's cheek, arms secure around her neck, and speak a single word-

"Up."

She screeches in a reckless, drawn out war cry, throwing her hammerhead towards the unseen sky, and we disappear into the ceiling.

Pure black is immediate. It does not trickle into place over years as the volcano erodes, nor will it cease so- in this passage where humongous, deadly sails of poison spilled through, boiling lava in its choked wake, we plunge ever higher, and both of our forms are straight, reaching with all of our skill for the hated suns. I can hear the team's wails behind us, glimpse their shining hides from the corner of my eye when we swerve to match the exit's pattern.

Ah, there's the sky.

I almost wish there were no such thing. Such a boundless, fickle, unintelligent thing, which has a beauty I care nothing for, as the colors and clouds and winds are never, ever constant. I remember my first promise to God as the tunnel draws to its treacherously slitted end- For God, my soul will fly undaunted, will sing unparalleled, will exist only in pure constancy, and constancy will be my most valued praise. There is more, as with any pledge, but I'm hit with the full scream of the sun before I can dwell upon the rest.

My eyes reopen.

The desert stretches before us, empty, stained blue again, for the red suns have retreated and indigo has taken over. Marrow surfaces after us. Fiend hurtles into the air. Sugar zips out and lands on the mountaintop. Chy treads air.

"Brothers!" I address the two males. "Find the Beds. Go! Before Red Sunrise, return to the Hollow." As I speak, I steer Chy to each soldier's side, urging them in the right direction. They let out deep call after call, the sonorous growls echoing along their course. They dive, swoop, and they're off, racing each other into places past my sight.

Turning from the brothers, I lower Chy to reach Sugar. I gently take her parasol and lead her into the sky with us.

"Alright, I have both of you," I say, patting Sugar's head. I spur Chy into action, all of us girls flying towards the dead Redsuns.

"To the Chambers. Then, maybe, to the ship."

For that is where I've predicted it's waiting for us.

...

_Fiend, Marrow, Sugar. One of these things is not like the other~ㇸ6_

_Love,_

_Tues_


	5. Chapter 4- A Pretty Parcel

We stir a typhoon of sand behind us as we speed over the planet's skin.

I finally take the time to duck beneath Chy's and my parasol, navigating through the transparent fabric and letting my cheeks and shoulders and upper back cool, safe from direct light.

We've flown undisturbed, Sugar and Chy conversing with clicks and snorts, me holding a hand against my forehead so as to glance occasionally into the distance. A smaller ravine that leads to the BoneCanyon passes under us. A mountain range winds along our left, petering out in a path from the Hollow Volcano. Eventually, the last speckled spike is swallowed by flat desert. No rifts, no hills. Only featureless.

Wait..

Almost featureless.

A tiny ribbon of darkness can be seen against the glare of the suns. And another. Another. Ah.. They join.. A thick plume of smoke.

My fingers tighten around the parasol, claws sinking into the petal thin lace. I fill my lungs with sore air, feeling Chy do the same, her ribs swelling against my legs. Sugar sniffs in confusion, the smell of smoke corroding that of my perfume. We can all taste it in our breath, on our tongues, in our veins, our throats, our marrow. The ship.

"It's magnificent.." I tell Chy. She coos a low, drawn out call, searching with her sharpest sense the silent wreckage. Sugar clicks nervously, blind to all but the smoke and the way the sand has been left in turmoil by the crash. She shrinks closer to us.

I myself wear a sideways smile, surveying the jagged, scattered sections of the great vessel. Well. Maybe once it was. Now it is merely a broken present, and we can hear the heartbeats of its candy.

"Circle it, from faraway, fly low," I say. I hold onto one of Chy's spines so as to reach for Sugar's parasol without plummeting. She'll have to stay close, but I can lead her.

Chy complies and falls a little to a safe height, just above the surface. Sharp debris litter the way, some sparking, some long stone cold dead. Sugar bites at one with a tangle of wires piled above the sand, spitefully. She doesn't trust the metal tinge in the wind, or the shade of the wreckage, or..

The smell of survivors.

She can sense them even before the high, clear voice reaches me-

"I feel one lung short, all of us..."

The speaker is a woman, marvelling and curious and at least a little intelligent.

"Feels like I just ran, or something..."

A young kind of sound to that one.

Footsteps clang through the broken hull. Things. Climbing. Stopping on the lopsided roof. We are near enough to hear it all. We dip into the shadow of the ship.

I and my pets have gone silent, swooping underneath them, landing and curling against one another below the torn overhang the strangers stand on. Their quiet words carry loss, apprehension, a grim kind of shock. My eyes widen. I extract myself from the tent of parasols and creatures. Chy growls when I almost land on her claws, and Sugar snorts when I kneel a little on her tail. I sigh.

"Yes, I'm sorry, and I'm sorry," I whisper, sitting cross legged in front of the two. "Forgive us our trespasses, yes?" Chy lays her head on the metal and Sugar lays her head on Chy.

I nod. "Good. Now, you two will stay behind. Stay under your blankets and don't poke your silly little noses outside the shade. No peeps, understand? And you really shouldn't kill anything just yet."

They grumble in protest.

"It wouldn't be fair to your brothers and sisters!" I hiss. I soften my tone again. "You'll get your turns in no time, no time. Don't you have any faith?"

I pat each settled head. "Just stay, loves." Sugar and Chy snuffle in agreement. I smile. "Look through the bitsy boxes, if you must. There may be treats for you still left inside." I motion at the few closest sleeping chambers, spilled from the ship's lowest floor (just above which we are). They chitter excitedly, peeking over the edge of the beam. They anchor their claws in the sheer side, starting to crawl down the unexpectedly smooth surface. I turn away, sure they'll be kept busy with the dead below, and rise to begin a walk of my own.

More of the strange conversation of our visitors drifts down.

"What the bloody hell happened?" A harsh male voice,

"Could've been a meteor storm. Might've been a rogue comet." The female that has just joined the others answers. I can smell blood on her clothes, hear sadness in her throat. So weak, they always are. Such weak, easy game. I pad up to a sufficiently intact support beam that juts into the empty air next to the ladder they have taken to reach the ship's top, eyes fixed above me for any sign of them. You've got to be creative, I remind myself. Always be creative, or you'll go mad, you little posy Poise..

"I don't know."

"Oh, but I do," I breathe. "I know just Who sent you down to me. It was God, wasn't it?" I catch a hold in the steel, nails sinking in just far enough.

"Well, I, for one, am thoroughly grateful." The first voice returns.

I drag myself up to the ledge next to the platform the group is standing.

"The beast wasn't made to land like this, but.."

I kneel out of their sights, and they out of mine.

"I think you did well."

I raise my head, peering over the platform's edge.

"Not well enough, thank goodness," I grin, assessing the beings. The one closest to me, a woman talking to who seems to be the closest thing they have to a captain, rests her hand gratefully on the other's uniformed shoulder. She turns to glance at the rising BlueSun, and I can catch her sharp profile- small nose, pale eyes, features built in a sort of slim, fox like manner and framed by curly hair even darker than mine. Her heavy boots shift on the rickety metal, murky green pants tucked neatly into their brown mouths. She tugs at her summery black top. In contrast, the uniformed woman has close-cropped hair more like the color of the palest crystal of sand. Her eyes are even lighter than the first pair, face more flat, jaw more squared, form thin under the navy vest and long sky-blue sleeves and matching pants. She takes more praise in silence.

"Yes, I suppose you're right, thank you very much," a man speaks quickly. I look at him next, resting my chin on my arms, which rest on the platform and force me to lean forward and stand on my toes, as if I were a daydreamer with my focus somewhere outside a window. He has a buzzed head of brownish hair, little round glasses with a few cracks from the impact, and a more hollow look to his nervous eyes, thin mouth, and a baggy white shirt decorated with several variously colored scarves and such. I smile at the sight of him. He pats the second woman's other shoulder.

And then the youngest talks again!

"Yeah. Thanks for.. Savin' our dicks."

My smile breaks into a snort of laughter. The little one has a sort of small grey-ish sweater on, crinkled corduroys, a dusty brown cap over messy, also sandy, hair. Her disguise doesn't fool me for another second- no young boy, but a girl. It shows in her softer, curious eyes, just slightly rosy lips and cheeks, the uncanny care in her posture. She too grips the second woman's shoulder. Beside her a ways, a cop in a white and blue cap crosses his arms, frowning. He has wide, milky eyes. If anyone of them has knives up his sleeves and a gun in his shoe, it's him.

"No, really," the other man cuts in, reprimanding. "Thanks awfully."

"Well done," the first woman concludes solemnly before rejoining a second man, who is thicker at least than the other, with darker skin and angry eyes and scruffy black hair. I recognize him as the first to ask what happened. Perhaps he's right to be a bit suspicious of the captain who still says nothing. She manages to nod, give a weak smile to the group, and go back to the ladder she must have come up from. The cop follows. The second man and first woman both sigh and meander towards my position, sitting with their legs hanging over the edge. I sink into the shade, pressing against the platform's side. I alone can hear their low conversation.

"Something isn't right here," he mutters.

"Of course not, Zeke, nothing is," she consoles.

"Look, I know a thing or two about certain vessels, Shazza, and more passengers should have survived. More rows should've made it." Zeke squints at the trail of shattered capsules ahead of us. Capsules that contained sleeping humans, once.

"Human error is just such a BOTHER sometimes, isn't it?" I snicker aloud. Shazza and Zeke both look up, confused.

Oops.. Time to go..

I inch along the torn ledge, stretching my hand to the wall until I find a drop. I duck into the charred hole, submerging myself in a darkness stuffed with shredded wires. A network of cables snakes through the hollow space. These must be the very entrails of the ship's broken head. I choose one, testing it warily with a toe, and, step by step, pick my way, balancing, to a vent across from the puncture. I grip the jagged bottom, steadying myself for a minute on the cable, and turn my head to peer out through the rusted bars. I can spot Chy and Sugar leaping gleefully through the patch of capsules that landed in the shadow of the rest of the ship. Assured, I retrace my steps and use another cable to swing down below the hazardous web.

My breath mists with the humidity of my relieved sigh as I land almost soundlessly on a fallen support beam. The single clang that filters through the metal isn't all that threatening, as I assume there aren't many more survivors left to discover.

And then.. the echo fades.

And then I hear him.

I hear the rough soles of his shoes slide along the floor, far below. I hear his dark, heavy sigh, chopped as if through a gag. I hear his slow heart. His slow, slow, powerful heart.

Footsteps and calls cloud the massive hull once more, masking that sonorous, beautiful beat. I blink, eyes flickering staccato, reproachful, teeth biting lip, biting tongue, biting back a curse. Loud creatures. Bright and noisy and rude. And quite dead, in all accordance.

I listen carefully, ear tilted up to the ceiling, but I've all but lost him. Him, though, I simply must have.

So I open my lips.

"_Where_..." I croon softly (so softly) into the dusty air, "Has that pretty little heartbeat gotten to?" My voice ripples along the walls and wires and columns, seamlessly.

Seconds snake past, carrying naught but the pounding steps and blurred conversations of every other damned survivor who I care nothing for just now.

Ah, there.

From somewhere beneath the beam I kneel on, I hear it. A booming echo, rushing through the skeleton of the vessel, an answer to my question, of sorts- he's kicked at the wall, he's told me where he is..

I spur myself into action, pattering along the beam until I reach its end, leaping off to land on another, closer to the ground. "I'll find you, I'll find you!" I chirp with joy, but still quietly. I crawl along the creaking beam, swinging down to a particularly unstable platform. I grimace, forcing myself to remain utterly still as the thin piece of ragged flooring shakes, ash and dust hissing off its crooked corners. I listen for another kick. But..

Voices pour into the ruined hull. And surprisingly, each one is _new_.

Four _brand new_ male voices, each coated in a syrupy Arab accent. I purse my lips, not quite sure whether to be pleased or discouraged. More survivors, more prey for my bitsy army, and yet again more of a challenge to trap at all. The platform shudders menacingly as their conversation reaches a cluttered climax.

The leader is an Imam, a Muslim priest, and he speaks in a consolingly steady tone, " الصمت, الصمت ,نحن كن السلامة في الـ الأيادي من اللّه."

Hush, hush, we are safe in the hands of God, he says to them. As if they are the ones protected. The ones chosen to be more than _bait_. To practice ruling the game. No. For they are just practice pieces.

The three followers mutter little prayers and things, exchanging resolved glances (as far as I can tell from their bobbing white-ash-creased turbans, heaped neatly enough upon their dark crowns of hair). My perch slips ever farther, weakening by the second.

" ذهب!" I hiss through clenched teeth, claws desperately digging into the wretched, burnt steel. "Just go!" In all my panic-driven will, every shadow in the wreckage- perhaps every shadow on this tired planet- shifts, shudders, and boils, black nebulas expanding in every corner, breaking the borders of light for a strong, agitated instant. They retreat as the peak of force diminishes in my throat.

The voices halt. The turbans bob some more, each boy and the Imam looking fretfully around the hull.

"Yes, ذهب, الأولاد, ذهب," Imam whispers (go, go, boys). The group stumbles out of my sight at last, ushered away by the priest and their own fear. I rocket off the platform just as half crumbles away, falling into a desecrated pile of rust on the floor far cast in darkness. I somersault into a crouch on the nearest solid support. My eyelids sink in relief. I cannot be discovered, no, no, not this bloody _early_.

"Dear Lord," I snarl, eyes snapping open. "Next time keep your missionaries out of my _way_." My remark simmers in the now-quiet air. I reconsider. I'm sure He knows I meant no actual disrespect. I sigh, apologize silently, and ease off the edge to find my feet flat on another warped catwalk. It lies, dead, over a small, dim cell..

My breath catches sharp in my narrow chest.

Before me, a dome, an uncannily unruptured makeshift prison scoops its pleasantly shaded space out from the rest of the ship. Filled with disrupted cargo, a whole once-secure row of multimetal boxes' worth, filled with streak upon streak of ash, filled with sweet little shadow husks, filled with shards of glass, but, ohsomostimportantly..

Filled with a constant, cold, close, close, _close_ pulse. Steady beat follows steady beat, marches around the arched roof, swims through the entire dull place, spurs my own silent heart into delightfully painful action, in chorus, involuntary. I creep forwards, placing both hands on the edge of the walk and peering into the room from above, eyes sweeping the whole grey expanse, brows furrowing as I find only musty emptiness. I'm sure I can hear him. I'm sure I've found the beat's owner. Yet I see nobody, nobody...

Ah, but then I discover something.

Leaning dangerously far over the edge of the beam, I discover what's been holding it up all this time. A ridged column juts from the floor, supporting my current perch. I bite at my lip, frustrated one more time, when all I can glimpse of the survivor is a pair of wraparound black bandage boots- one with sole flat on the floor, one on its side. The ends of his dark green soldier pants are tucked with apparent pride into them.

I click my tongue once, in an effort to trick him into plainer sight.

He curls one leg in.. I purse my mouth.. but he does not rise.

Ah, no.

He _can_ not rise.

The clink of thick chains echoes through the room, accompanied with a venomously snarled curse. His voice is soft but... But shiver-inducingly... _Deep.. _And.. Well, he is tethered to the beam. I purr a small laugh, sliding to the far edge of the catwalk, shoulder hitting the room's wall. I feel along it until my fingers close around a severed pole, jutting out a bit below me. I grasp it slowly, straining my thin neck to peer at the restless boots, wary.

With a dark swish, I swing down, but don't release the pole, hanging just above the ground, directly in front of him.

And, oh, he's a lovely one.

I tilt my head, regarding him carefully, shadows across my face, in my vision. Through them.. Mm.. Powerful shoulders, the gentle curves of his neck, his skull..

I stretch one leg out silently and cautiously, curving my ankle and pressing my bare toes onto the stained metal ground. My lips part at the cold. My eyes widen. Forcing myself to be slow, loosen my grip on the pole, let go, drop my palms to the surface. I can't hold back a smile as I lower my other foot to the steel.

He stirs.

I can't catch just when or how, but I feel him stir.

His arms twist slightly as he tests some angle of whatever cuffs bind his hands behind the beam- and it's a shame, honestly, I'd quite like to see his hands (hee-hee!). Ah, well, still nice of him to be conspicuously sleeveless at the time..

I pinch the bridge of my nose, snapping my attention back to the bitsy investigation I was (really, truly) _trying_ to carry out. As his suspicion appears to abate a little, I ease closer, focusing on his face. Of that, again, unfortunately, I cannot see much. A stained, black cloth is knotted over his eyes- a glinting, silvery restraint is jammed between his clenched teeth. Past the lull of his heart, I can hear each ragged, difficult breath. It's funny, too, I also feel as if he's studying me even through the cruel bonds. His nose is wrinkled in a moody sneer, by the way. It's still easy to see how round and darling it is, though (hee-hee twice over!).

One more quiet step puts my hand on the floor between his knees. I spill my weight onto my wrist painstakingly slowly, lifting one leg to my chest, setting it down between his, free hand inevitably reaching up, up.. I pause, index fingertip a fraction of a centimeter from his bottom lip. The corner of my mouth sneaks up into a daring side-smirk. He is still, apparently in thought, presumably yet unaware of me (or at least pretending). I hesitate an instant.. But curiosity takes over.. And..

Lowering my hand softly, I touch the silver coil of the gag. I run a claw delicately along it until the sharp tip is caught in a hinge, maybe used for loosening. It clicks as I drag it back ever so slightly.. Whoops..

He pulls his legs to his chest viciously, me barely skittering back in time. I stand, he stands, his back to the beam, my back to the wall. He spits the restraints to the ground, coughs once, and lifts his blindfolded eyes. I hold my breath. He strains to look around the room, to no avail. So he speaks.

"Now just where did you come from, little miss spider?" He smiles coldly. "Not that I don't appreciate the help, but the scent on you.."

He rocks on his toes, leaning against the bonds.

"It's a bit.. unfamiliar." He possesses this sort of inclination, this way of tilting his head when he talks. Precious, precious, I like him already!

I approach the gag cautiously, gaze fixed on the man (just where on him doesn't necessarily matter, trust me).

"_That _is quite the story, actually," I sniff, extracting a square of thin fabric from the sleeve of my dress. "Not for you."

"Ooh. Sounds like I've caught myself a liar." He's more smirking now, pompous thing. Vain tone. Dark intentions. Practically criminal.

"You think so?" I query, with an indignant note in my voice. I kneel, wrapping the cloth around my fingers. "I come from high heaven, love." I disdainfully lift the metal gag to eye level. It's an odd contraption. A merc's tool. Criminal indeed!

He sinks back to sitting position too, stretching out his legs again relaxedly. "Could be possible, couldn't it? The scent on you.." He snickers.

I set the gag back on the floor, wrapped in the kerchief. I fold my hands in my lap. "You, sadly, seem to think you have come from hell."

He scuffs the floor, sighing. "Too many to count, as a matter of fact," he murmurs wistfully. I grin again, creeping closer to my original spot face to face with him. He has no lack of amusing answers. My shock trickles away.

"Maybe we ought to share elaborations after all.." I trail off as footsteps wander through the ship. We tip our faces to the ceiling in unison. ".. Somewhere else. Where it's.." I continue, looking back to his hidden eyes. My brows knit together. What's the right word here? What's the right word..?

"Safe?" He offers softly.

I twist my hands. "No such thing, not on this planet."

"Secret?" His voice goes sly.

"As if I'll ever trust anything _like_ you that much," I scoff. I reach back for the restraints, cautiously.

"So.. You want silent," He concludes.

I lean confidentially in so it is that my breath brushes his ear when I answer (and I hear his heartbeat flicker, so barely it might have been the wind shifting miles away), "Yes, I suppose."

"Why should I go?" He wonders.

"Because _you_ want to leave my kingdom alive!" I hold the very edges of the bindings like a necklace, pinched between my thumbs and forefingers with all the others curled up, just above his mouth. "Before this goes back on, what do they call you, love?" I ask.

He frowns.

"Don't be worried, I'm not going to make it as tight as before," I assure him pleasantly.

He nods cautiously. "Riddick."

The name jolts like a blade through my memory. I stiffen. I jerk back, staring at him, disbelieving.

"Fas-cin-at-ing.." I whisper.

Riddick's mouth twitches. "Sure. More importantly, who are you?"

I have to squeeze my eyes shut, soothing darkness falling over sight. Open, close, open. "I am a Queen, of course. We don't always.. _have_ names." I fit the gag back over his jaw, fastening it swiftly around the base of his neck. "And it seems I've stumbled upon the pretty parcel of this story." I lift his chin. Can't protest now. "When you get out- and I'm counting on that- follow the BlueSun. I can give you about an hour and a half."

The insistent footsteps peak and someone slams into the room.

...

_Riddle me this: if you found a convict on a ship in your desert, would you play with the restraints in his teeth?_

_Of course you would._

_Questions? Comments? Concerns (for my character's sanity, perhaps)? This chapter was one of my more popular ones on Wattpad._

_Love,_

_Tues_


	6. Chapter 5- We of Diplomacy

I spring above Riddick's head, anchoring my claws into the beam and dragging myself back up into the shadows. Just in time. Just in time.

The cop slams through the little passage that leads to his makeshift prison cell, holding a strange, spiked firearm, knuckles white.

"How the hell are you.." He growls, glaring at his convict. Riddick grins through the silver. He shrugs against the beam. He wiggles his feet in the bonds around his ankles.

I sneak higher into the drifting, hanging cables above the two rivals' reach, searching the cop thoughtfully. He's not spoken before. His speech is harsh, with a southern sound. His cap is hooked to his dull blue belt, and his fair hair curls down, so fair, in fact, it's almost white. With a disgusted sigh, he snaps the gun into dormancy and shoves it half down the back of his belt.

"Johns?" The captain's cold, weak voice rings out as she cautiously approaches the room. "You mind explaining what the hell is happening down here?" I glance at the flight officer spitefully. Interrupting the fascinating communications of cop and convict- how rude! She runs her hands nervously down the sides of her uniform. Her blocky boots cast rumbles through the passage after each slow step. She asks her questions softly, but with a hint of aggression, as if this Johns doesn't typically explain much at all. I look away to survey the ceiling around me for an escape. Riddick turns his face up in my direction, no doubt listening for me from below, completely ignoring the two arguing over him. I sincerely hope there won't be much for him to hear. I wouldn't want to disturb the business between the only pair of authorities on this ship.

Ah, thank goodness. I spot the window across from me, a circular pane that presides with its stained light over the area. Of course, it will take a bit of a jump to reach.

Over the three beings in the room.

Without attracting their attention.

"Look, Carolyn, I heard this asshole's voice just now, and if his bonds are loose, I've got to fix them.." I look again to see Johns kneeling over Riddick, forcing his head down angrily to check the restraints' clasp.

Carolyn sighs and I spot her crossing her arms skeptically as she gathers up her sad few ounces of courage and moves closer to Johns. "Ever think it might be you that's got something loose?" She grumbles. When the cop ignores her and she squats to face him, watching Riddick all the same with fear, I take my chance.

I reach out snappily for a bundle of cold wires hanging from the ceiling not far above me. I choose a cable and wrap it securely around my arm and leap, swinging across the room, latching onto the other side. Riddick's laughter slithers in my wake. I press my palms to the glass hurriedly as the others whip their heads up, looking for the cause of the breeze over them. I shudder and push the pane open and squeeze out headfirst, landing on all fours on heated metal once more. Watery light bathes the desert yawning around me- the Blue Sun is high.

"Sugar, Chy.." I gasp, eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh, darlings, you've been out here too long." I patter to the peak of the ship's vast roof, shielding my vision, spotting the ledge the survivors were grouped upon before. I vault over the misshapen sections of rooftop, calling quietly for my loves.

"Sug-ar, Sugarsugar, Chy-y.." I croon, coming to the valley between the platform and the rest of the beast. I peep over the edge to find the 'raptors nestled in the shade under a set of stairs, parasols tangled from playing in the lost cargo strewn around. "Hello there, my busy bees," I laugh, snapping my fingers and beckoning Chy up. She rattles her needle teeth and starts to scramble up to meet me. Sugar notices and purrs, shaking out her brittle wings patiently. I drop to Chy's back and Sugar rockets into the air beside us as Chy releases the wall.

I grin as the world rushes on upside down- I hang from Chy until she levels out, rolling mid air and cheeping proudly. Sugar loops around us, thankful to be in action at last.

"Change of plans, darlings!" I announce, spurring Chy to the north, the opposite direction of that from that by which we came. Sugar swerves to catch up. "We're going to play in the bones."

I glance down to catch a glimpse of the child, Shazza, Zeke, and the cop, who has followed our path out of the great machine, gaping upon the vast sands at the spectacle above. Of course. They've never seen three suns scorch the sky in unison, coating half a world in bleary red and half in somber blue.

"Three suns?" I hear the child gasp. Chy, Sugar and I all snigger in our various ways.

"So much for your nightfall." Zeke's saucy criticism, aimed at the cop.

"So much for my cocktail hour.." The other male joins the group, fiddling with his round glasses, leaning on an odd sort of ancient spear. I shake my head at their antics. Oh, so blank. So unknowing. The suns are nothing, _nothing_ to fear. It's what hides from them.

Chy rounds the ship and the lot of them are lost from my sights.

Wind buffets us, unruly and growing stronger, more sinister. The chocolate ribbons of my hair coast in my vision, flickering ahead, always. Sugar strains visibly to follow my scent. I reach for my perfume, wishing only to strengthen it for her, but decide against it, knowing the cold spritz will simply be lost in our travels.

I settle to burrow into the cover of Chy's parasol, pulse steadying at long last. I can finally acknowledge the freedom surrounding us for miles- how strange it is that one black, metal pocket of otherworldly confines can twist the open air into something suffocating, nervewracking, nauseating. How strange it is that such cells are the only things to keep my eleven new game pieces safe.. I seek out the distant mountain of the Hollows, nudging Chy a little more on course so that the faraway crags are to our tails. I sigh, sipping my next breath thoughtfully. My thoughts taste of Riddick.

"I think I've found us a playmate, Chy," I say confidentially from under the cloth. She shifts her grey head. "Yes, I think I have," I continue after a second of silence. "He's clever, Chy, it seems. If he can prove that to us, if he can hold his end of the deal I've.. Well, _we've_ got planned.." She gives an agreeing chirp when I pause again. "If he slips away from the other little toys.." I laugh playfully, giving her side a pat. "If he finds us.." I survey the horizon through the folds of thin parasol. "Why, he might just have a shot at playing, Chy."

I see the first hints of skeletal silhouettes in the yawning falls of sunlight. "Almost to it already, huh?" I congratulate Chy. She wriggles in the air and cheeps proudly. "Yes, yes, don't leave your sister behind," I sigh. Sugar purrs below, sensing the smell of the boneyard. "Fine, fine, you've done well too," I concede. "Land here."

Chy's paws are swallowed by the auburn hill as she bounds down, gallivanting up the slope, showering crystals into Sugar's indignant face. I slide off and rush to comfort her as she squawks and bats at her own blind sockets.

"Chy-y.." I scold, but she's already posing triumphantly at the hilltop, parasol fluttering around her folded wings. "Oh, ignore it, love," I tell Sugar, though she can never understand. "It's not your fault you were born particularly inferior." She snuffles into my cupped hand. I take the parasol to lead her after Chy.

Primly placed foot after foot, I trudge up the bluing dune, eyes fixed resolutely on the thin bones that climb into the sky as if they were blackened, brittle branches. These are the spines that spiderweb from the fleshless backs of a mass of dead goliaths and behemoths. I knew them once. I knew them to be the mild masters of this garden. Before they were struck by Death. Lost to desert.. My fingers tighten unwittingly around the parasol, causing another splutter from its owner and another hasty, regretful apology from me.

"Oh-dear-hush-hush-hush-love.." I choke, stopping and loosening my grip. "There-there-there.."

This is why I can't think about the past, dear me, dear _me._.

I hurry the rest of the way and we three stand together, in full glory, above the sun, a shallow sea of starched skeletons scattered before us. So many secrets to my realm that they can never be buried.. I sigh. And so God and I leave them to be baked in the relentless days.

Sugar and Chy swoop down the cliff to seek shade, screeching at each other occasionally. I brace, push my feet into the sand and slide after them, crystals tumbling down with me. The 'raptors find a cave in the back of a stained, massive skull. Each pokes their heads out of the dim sockets, chirping for me to hurry. My sorrow begins to abate and I laugh, running, leaping, crawling in beside them by a crack in the skull's domed top. The bone feels dusty and warm, as warm as something so pale white can be. I will always love exploring here, even if it's filled with fear and guilt at times. It's good to return to such things after the day's adventures. Vanity has its limits.

Although I have two troublemakers with me and may soon be joined by a third.

Ah, expectancies.

I rest my back in the arc of the beast's missing mind, motioning the raptors towards me.

"Come here, loves, I'll undo your parasols for now. You'll look so pretty for our friend when he arrives. And you've eaten some already, haven't you?" They purr contentedly, flopping down on the ground as I remove their capes, showing off their full bellies. "So you'll let us be, loves, you'll let us talk," I nod, reaching out to poke their round tummies. Each 'raptor squeaks and writhes around and jumps to their two clawed feet, snapping back at me playfully. I grin and shake my head. I can't truly trust their current fullness to keep them calm, so I motion them even further and rest each spiked head carefully in my lap.

"To be completely safe, loves, this is just to be completely safe," I murmur, stroking the ridges of their beaks gently. "Back, forth, my sweet darling," I hum. "To and fro like a Canyon-Swing.."

Seconds lounge by and their breathing slows. Minutes pass and their snuffles become snores. The half hour comes to a close and my loves are fast asleep. I close my eyes too, let my hands lie still over their rising and falling heads. With pleasant coolness blanketing us, we rest. We wait. I finish humming my lullaby and relax.

And, then, for the second time today, I hear him.

The dead air is filled with him, and it's sudden, and my eyes snap open and I concentrate, listening.

I hear the telltale crunch of sand, distant, climbing, nearing. He's trudging up the hill. Why didn't I notice before? He's close already, he's close.. I bite my tongue in disappointment at my own lack of attention. Tsk.

I hear him reach the top of the hill.

I hear him stop.

I hear the small halt in his easy breath- no, I hear the carefree melt into the suspicious. I hear him looking out at the bones, rows upon rows, piles, heaps, mountains, seas.

Moments slither past and he starts up again, descending into the silence that is mine. I hear a new slowness in each step, until they're stealthy-faint, astoundingly quiet, impressively, in fact, and I hear new intent, new wariness. His breathing resumes, but with no traces of laughter anymore, no smile, no smugness- as mine bloom.

"Hm hm, thought sand and rocks were the only things in the desert, did you.." I whisper proudly to myself. The 'raptors sigh muffled sighs in their sleep, in their throats. I soothe them best I can, fingertips stroking their heads, resting on their limp backs.

It's a short lived celebration, however. My eyes snap open when they quiet once more and all I hear is a patter, a scuff, and then.. Nothing.

Nothing?

Only Chy and Sugar keep me from sitting angrily upright.

"Oh, now, that's no good, love.." I murmur, glancing out the hulking sockets anxiously, searching the thin slivers of light in the skull surrounding us. "That's cheating, love, and we had such a nice game going.."

"Would've been better if you didn't think aloud so much, queenie." His voice echoes in the sphere. I look up with a start, surprised. Down at me, through a weathered breach in the bone, peers his familiar face, and I see, now with no cloth over them, that he has two iridescently blue eyes. His lips are in a crooked smile, nose is crinkled in triumph. He disappears for a second, then clambers through the gash in the skull's roof and lands neatly across from me.

"Ah," I say. "There you are." I ease back a little and smile as pleasantly as the sky after the rarity of a rainstorm.

Riddick folds his hands behind his back politely, but his distrust has returned nonetheless. "Here I am."

I purse my lips apologetically. "I'd walk with you, or show you around, but.." I look down.

He quirks his mouth, eyes narrowing, traveling down to the shadowy creatures sprawled over my legs. "Didn't think you'd be bringing friends."

I rub Sugar's plated nose lazily, watching his eyes with curiosity- something in the slivers of dry light catches in them. Something makes them flash.

Oh, I want a closer look badly, very badly, I do..

"Transportation system, really.." I answer with slow, musing articulation. "I've had no shoes, I'm afraid, for quite some time." My finish is matter of fact.

He nods silently, agreeing, slumping against the opposite wall and sliding down to sit, legs crossed at the boots, facing me. "Clever," he allows quietly.

"They've just eaten, you know," I assure him with a cheerful nod. He snorts, shaking his head.

"So, tell me," he drawls, crossing his arms and blinking at me through the stripes of shade enveloping him. "What've I possibly got to offer someone royal as you?" With a grin, he adds, "Besides my boots, see, I need those."

I snicker slightly and draw my shoulders in in a shy fashion, spreading my spindly fingers out and cupping them around my arms. "A fair amount," I say elusively. "But don't go overestimating. It wouldn't do well for.." I trail off, looking pensively down at Chy's paws.

His smirk grows as he speaks. "For?"

I meet his gaze with renewed courage. "Us."

The skull is hushed but for the raptors' low whistling snores.

"Don't get me wrong.." He reluctantly shatters it.

He turns his head to look at me sideways, and it strikes me, whatever it is, the thing about his eyes..

"I like the way you talk, queenie, but riddles only sound that sweet when you're planning something nasty. So."

I watch them as they slide away to focus on the varying streaks of sun pouring from ruptures in the bone encasing us.

"_So_.. Maybe we can cut the.." He stops suddenly just as I raise my head, and the full force of his gaze hits mine again.

Somewhere in the distance, we can hear the undeniable sounds of the other passengers. Faint, but not for long. He curses under his breath and I sigh in disappointment. We turn back to each other, silently agreeing that this is not the place to linger.

"I will be.. Hm.." I lift my hands from the raptors' heads, waiting for them to shake off the immobility. Their breathing breaks into confused, weary chirrups.

"I'll be where the second RedSun rises, approximately at least," I instruct him, lowering my voice and rolling my eyes. Chy shifts, beginning to raise her head. Sugar retracts her paws and starts to stand.

With a nervous circumnavigation, I gesture Riddick closer. He places his hands flat on the cold ground and listens patiently, ignoring the waking raptors- probably smart of him.

"And, just so you know, _riddles_.." I emphasize the name scornfully. "Make the deals, not their speakers, love. But deals are _supposed_ to take time, you see, and the complicated aspects are, mm, fairly necessary." I nod to illustrate my words, spread my now free hands.

His eyes are wide, then skeptically narrow, then creased with another slow smile. "How you get through all that without tripping up, I'll never know."

"I get the subtle impression you weren't listening at all," I frown, sarcasm sharp in my voice.

He shrugs rebelliously, we both stand, Chy and Sugar tumble lazily at my feet, he blinks and his smile falters some, I try one last time to put a name to the power in his eyes, I forget the shivery echoes of the other voices,fading and resurfacing and fading and resurfacing and fading and oh, the colors in his eyes, there's more than blue, isn't there? Isn't there. Much more, in fact, there are shades and.. and hues.. and shadows and.. even rims of eerie.. of _light_..

"I could not-listen to your not-riddles all day, queenie," he says, quietly, still refusing to be diplomatic.

I blow my breath out haughtily, replies crowding my tongue, every one of them stinging it with my own venom, but..

Three things happen, and all at once.


	7. SwingSong

_SwingSong, an ancient lullaby of the once-angels of Eden._

_..._

Back and forth, my sweet darling!

To and fro like a Canyon-Swing.

Rest your paws and jaws upon the rock.

I will sing, for you I'll sing!

In tones and ropes like a Canyon-Swing.

On my voice you'll fly past cloud hillock.

Close your eye and open your wing!

Up and out like a Canyon-Swing.

Find behind your mind an endless night.

You're tired, and yet, you're a fresh youngling!

When you dream the dream of a Canyon-Swing.

Drift into the dark and take dark flight.

Fly back and forth, my sweet darling!

To and fro like a Canyon-Swing.

Look and you will see it.

Imagine and you'll be it.

Find and you will free it.

Free and found like a Canyon-Swing.

A Canyon-Swing.

...

_A simple yet effective method for lulling full-fledged bioraptors to sleep. Does not guarantee pleasant dreams.._

_~Tuesday_


	8. Chapter 6- Patience

One. With a furious snarl, Chy springs, still lopsided from immobility, at Riddick, jaws frozen in a cavernous scream, steely grey teeth catching the patterned rows of light, while Sugar crouches to the sand, hisses pouring in jagged staccato from her throat..

Two. He and I both leap backwards, me losing sight of him momentarily in the slurred fury of the two 'raptors..

Three. We are no longer alone in the graveyard. The rest of Riddick's planet-jumping tea party has caught up to him.

I dive forwards, snatching both parasols, spreading one frantically and leaping to ensnare the nearest animal, snarling several different curses in several different languages in the process. Chy writhes in my arms, but I hook the cloth around her neck.

"Be still-!" I command through clenched teeth. I give the parasol a tremendous wrench, rearing her back on her two lean legs and regaining some sort of order. As she falls again into her natural crouch, I fling the parasol over her head, sailing in a spring-loaded leap over her length, slamming her jaws to the ground and keeping them between it and the cloth.

Meanwhile, Sugar is spewing howls up the walls of bone, scrabbling blindly in circles after what I assume is the threatening scent of our dear visitor. I grit my teeth and lunge for her forked tail, keeping my toes on Chy's parasol, keeping each corner on the ground and holding her under it as best as I can. With my hold on Sugar, I drag her away from the wall, releasing one hand to seek out the other cloak and wrenching her close enough to release her tail altogether and cover her snapping beak as well.

I let my breath go. "-and silent."

A darting glance around the hollow confirms it- the convict has vanished. He must enjoy the company of his _friends_ just as little as I do..

I shake my head slightly, to scatter the flickering thoughts of Riddick's whereabouts, and decide on the manner of my own exit. The 'raptors' squirming is more or less subdued- enough for now. Roughly, and with no shortage of annoyed sighs, I kneel over Chy, lifting the cloth over her head and gagging her, tying it at the back of her bony neck, leaving enough extra length for reins. Hauling Sugar over, I repeat the process, leaving them both unable to make a sound above a muffled growl, the clickers in their mouths restricted. Then, still on my knees, I take both parasols, one in each hand, and brace a leg against each twitching back.

I force down a nauseating wave of protective panic, annoyance, and disciplinary inclinations and let my eyelids sink over vision far too full of brightness and fear.

"Sugar and Chy." I speak calmly, but not slowly. "Sugar. _Sugar_. _Chy_."

They cower and shrink closer together, side by side as they should be, at the sound of their names.

"You will _never _live to see sundown if you don't follow my voice now."

They listen.

I take another soothing breath and click my tongue, signaling a forward creep, leading us away from the ever advancing intruders, now wandering somewhere in the skeletons surrounding our skull.

We curl together close and slip through the gap between bleached fangs where one has rotted away, me lowering my gaze from the sudden sunlight reflecting off the mountainous white shards of vertebrae jutting from the sand around the skull, 'raptors adjusting their elbows and tails constantly to keep under the shortened area of fabric I hold over their sensitive bodies.

I glare over my shoulder at the now-vacant skull, just in time to see a pair of grubby hands hoisting someone over the domed top. We must slip into hiding.

I give a soft warning and tug the reins to the right, urging Sugar and Chy into the shadow of the closest behemoth's spine. Holes dot the long, winding trail of connected hollows, but it's the only tunnel immediate enough for us to take our leave by. I curl myself lower, hunched, eyes now able to at least alternate between wide and darting (when shadow encases) and slitted (where light hits us from random cracks). Chy's claws are soundless in the sand, practiced and placed with care. Sugar steps close to her, balance sometimes wavering on her two thin legs, tail sometimes being difficult in reaction to the patches of sun and lack of full cover.

Like clockwork, we circulate- our adversaries and us. They filter into the valley of bones, soul by soul, running their curious hands over different formations and kicking at rocks. We make our silent way towards the other end, where the opposite slope begins ascent, along which I first laid eyes on the ship.

"You see, loves.." I coo. "We've done so well. We've come full circle, you see? This is where I came to fetch you, just hours ago.. You're almost home, yes.. Our bitsy recon is almost finished-" I trail off, spooked by a nearby patter of dislodged stones, the distorted echoes of voices, voices I can recognize with fresh ease.

"No water here," they're proclaiming to one another, in murmurs and grim tones. "This whole planet is dead."

At this last resounding whisper, my lower lip trembles. I reach up shakily to press my fingertips to my mouth, trying to hide the tiny, involuntary whimper pulsing in my throat. I curl in closer to my raptors and try to remember _why_ they live today. They live because all else died to sustain them. Sacrifice. And because of me.

The spine had collapsed into a spot blockaded by bone shards a few feet ahead of us, cutting our journey short with a dead end, so I slip down between the raptors' flanks and lift the reins over their heads to lead them as if they were a two part dogsled team. I tug them towards the wall and seek out the nearest gap between spinal columns, advancing first, ducking halfway out of the shadows and assessing the area- for threats, and then for paths, and then for paths with more cover.

Chy and Sugar creep after me when I step out and slowly start towards a massive yellowed horn, once a projection off a creature's skull, now a halved bridge laying like a dead tree's trunk against the dune. The climb will be distastefully steep, but we can make it through the thing without being burnt, or worse, seen.

A short stretch of exposed sand, bare of cover, lies in the way, but I can't risk navigating around it, not after noticing that treacherous collapse.

We slither as a group up in and out of safety, climbing over, past, along marrowless jaws, joints, fangs, femurs. When the patch is mere steps from us, I slow the march and caution the 'raptors in a low singsong.

"Under, under," I say, and they shake their parasols into place. "Good, now slowly," I advise, hushed. "Slowly on, and we'll make for the dune."

I lead them to the edge of shadow, prowling a few strides along it, calculating the fastest way across to the tusk. I study it's perimeter closely, for any flurry, any misplaced spray of sand, any hint of an alien voice from sighing the infested labyrinth we've come so close to exiting. I draw in a delicate breath, but this wing of graveyard hasn't passed through for weeks, and I catch nothing in the air, not a foreign trace and not a familiar trail.

And so, as sure as three cornered animals can be in the face of exposure, we brace ourselves and edge into the sun.

I hover suffocatingly close to my companions, knuckles white where my fingers clench the reins. Each slim foot, shadowed by two steel-colored paws, sinks and burns in the heated minerals. I grit my teeth in a slowly worsening wince as we advance. Sugar growls, a discomforted and constant sound, and Chy keeps letting low calls roll through her teeth, listening tensely for their returning echoes. Some of the traces of their flare-up of hostility starts to show in their taut legs, curling in, folding, reaching out, stepping. We crawl across that open sand. We inch.

The base of the tusk is lodged in the bottom of the hill. We sneak to its side, guided by my seeking hand, halting only when I can press my palm to the weathered ivory. I let out my breath in a quiet sigh. Chy and Sugar surround me, tapping at our escape with the ridges of their heads and emitting tiny rumbles of curiosity. I tug their parasols.

"Not like that," I whisper, casting a glance behind us for the final time. I turn to look down at my 'raptors. "We'll climb it from the inside." I bite my lip and close my eyes for this next action.

A splintering, hollow crack resounds through the area as I raise my foot and bring it down hard on the trunk. A portion of its shell breaks and falls away, enough to reveal the tunnel of space beneath, enough for Chy and Sugar to widen the edges with their ridged heads, enough for us to slip inside the bone and begin to ascend through its interior. They wait patiently for me to remove the cloths from their necks. I usher them in ahead of me, waiting until the wriggling tip of Suagr's forked tail has slithered out of sight to step in, foot by foot, and sink down to a crouch, now cloaked in shade and fully concealed from the rest of the graveyard.

My vision floods with details and colors that come now with the ease of nocturnal eyes in their favored lighting. My muscles relax and I breathe a sigh of immense relief.

"Start up, now," I command, voice remaining low for the time. Chy begins a steady crawl in the darkness ahead of Sugar, who follows suit ahead of me. I place my palms to the cold floor of the tunnel, pushing forward with my heels to fight the mild slope and begin to step, step, step in a confined crawl, prepared for (but dreading) the moment that might come at any time- the moment when one of my 'raptors would slip, tumble, cry out and collide with me, hopefully in such a way that I would catch them in my arms, brace myself against the walls, halt their fall with my body, and avoid having to start over at the tunnel's bottom.

With this thought pulsing dully in the back of my mind, I keep Sugar's swishing tail in sight, monitoring their padding footsteps and the click, scrape, snap! of their claws as they find footholds and move ever nearer to the end of the segment.

Perhaps three minutes of careful crawling passes before Chy first reaches it. I hear her disgruntled snort at finding herself in the light once more, hear the thump as she slips out of the bone, hear the sands hiss as she finds a place in the shadow of the white peak. Sugar gingerly does the same, hesitating when the tip of her beak is briefly scalded by light, clambering out and finding a place next to Chy out of the suns' reaches. I drag myself to the lip of the hollow by my hands. I wriggle out into the blistering air. I twist on my belly and squeeze my legs up, curling them around and finally sitting, hunched, at the tunnels end, one breath, two breaths, slip! I land upon the grainy ground.

My first task is to re-administer the parasols so my charges will be ready to fly. I climb atop Chy and urge her a few steps into the sun, turning my head to look behind us, searching intently for any sign of pursuit. But I believe we have made it out of the graveyard undetected by the crew of the broken ship.

I believe we have won our first game.

…

_I keep telling myself that the only way I'll get famous for writing is if I actually mm you know _write._ Clearly I'm a terrible listener._

_But please, oh please, get it while it lasts dears.._

_I did put much more Riddick-Poise interaction in the next chapter/s, their meetings thus far were sort of foreshadowing. So that's a plus. xoxo_


	9. Chapter 7- A Balance of Needs

Once again, we begin with haste and desert.

I lean forward, eyes set ahead of us, and unwaveringly. Chy skims the planet's surface, cloak billowing raggedly off her thin wings. The suns turn silently above us. Red coats the world again. I croon a soft command and Chy and Sugar shift, soaring towards the hellish glare. I hold up a hand to block the light from my eyes, but pinpricks seep through the spaces between my fingers. The top corner of my lip draws up into a sneer.

I think of them now- creeping all over the graveyard. Like shy deer, I think, or a little herd of sheep. I sigh, resting my forehead on Chy's warm neck. Whichever they are, they'll end up prey for the manticore.

Wind rushes over my back and I lift the side of the parasol, ducking under it and resting with a tired pout against Chy.

Half awake and sleepy with the pleasant heat from the cold-blooded 'raptor beneath me, I reflect over the day's events. Especially one, my learning of his name- Riddick.

I remember the brief, initial reaction I had to hearing it for the first.. Well, _maybe_ first.. Time. Bewilderingly, I realize that I had felt as though I'd heard it before.

Now, it is a fact that I speak with God. It's like taking in the voices of a billion races when He speaks back, so I cannot rest my unease in utter certainty. Still, it's there. In the recesses of my mind, it's there. Somehow, I feel as though I've heard it before, as if in a warning- surely not more than once. I recognize the way the tongue curls around it and the teeth close against its ending. It begins to taste of foreboding to me, unfortunately. I had rather enjoyed the harrow, the feelings it stirred. It's a dark title, a sharp one. It rather suits its owner.

I snuffle against Chy ruefully.

It suits him very well.

Anyhow, I expect he'll find his way to us, this crafty little Riddick. And where it's dim, where it's safe, where the world is run by my own breed of monsters.. Well, perhaps I'll be able to place him, pinpoint exactly how it is that I've heard his name before.

The Chambers are directly opposite the Perch, in relation to the Canyon's sides. I desire to lead Riddick there, where the bulk of the army nests. It's safest there- for me. Of course, I won't take him too close. In fact, I won't take him close at all. But.. they _will_ be there. All of those families under my control.

I know that, after another brief rest in the Chambers, Chy will begin to want her babies. Already, she's been away from them for most of a day. Sugar won't mind the visit to the Perch. In fact, I might decide to move her there permanently. A smaller group for a weaker 'raptor. I feel a bit more comfortable with that prospect. Smiling, I reach out to touch Sugar's head. She glides alongside Chy dutifully. She is good. They have both been so good. I hope Marrow and Fiend have had a much nicer day. I also plan to check that they made it back to the Hollows. Soon, I reassure myself. After all, I think with a yawn, I have much faith in them.

We travel along the Canyon for a mile and a half, the distance passing rapidly in flight. It's downright relieving, too, the more distance there is between my darling pets and the humans in the Bones. Like catching a baby just before it drops from a cradle, it is. Like lifting a clumsy child's hands away from a fragile curio.

Chy dips now, finding that her calls are answered with the familiar shapes of the grand Chamber entrance. Sugar is at her tail. I lift the parasol away from my eyes as well, taking in the lovely, welcome sight.

"Hallelujah," I murmur.

Of all the Underworld realms, in their varying degrees of mystique and grandeur, the Chamber possesses the highest, most forbidding sense of our palatial power. The spires of the Perch and the hills of the Hollows mingle seamlessly in this place, which begins where the lip of the Canyon ends. It rises, the ground gradually staggering into sharp cliffs and plateaus. The evidence of massive faults in the planets surface, I remember. Indeed, the Chamber is very central to the rest of the Underworld. Not unlike a colossal, jagged stone heart.

I tap Chy's head thrice.

Lower, she swoops. She glides over the flat top of a plateau, claws scraping the rock, until she curls them, forward to land. Sugar touches down behind us. As I disembark, wincing at the warm, cruel rocks awaiting my poor and partially uncovered feet, she gives a reptilian shudder, wings rustling against her sides, and opens her cavernous jaws in a toothy yawn. I glance skyward, checking the progress of the largest RedSun and its dimmer cousin, which has begun to peek over the horizon at our backs.

"Brilliant," I say softly, pleased to have at least one more stroke of luck today. In minutes, it will be ascending directly over us. So easy for our new friend to follow, to find. And I'll have just enough time to get the 'raptors settled inside.

"Come here, butterflies!" I speak up, gesturing my companions nearer and taking their reins. "Lots of families for you to visit with now.."

And so, with me picking my way carefully over the broken land, we climb down a ways. The first opening I find in the cliffside suits my needs. I crouch beside it, calling Chy, and then Sugar forward, ushering them into it. Sugar gives an echoing coo once inside, as if she is asking me why I do not follow.

"Go _on_, loveys," I command gently. "Find your sisters, now. _Go_ to them. Go on."

A final grumble from one or the other, and with a rasp, the last sight of Sugar's tail disappears deeper into the darkness of the tunnel. I sigh.

Lithely, I reach for a handhold and pull myself up, bit by bit, back up to the top of the plateau.

Wind picks up once more, sending strands of my hair off in dips and spins in the shifting light. I lift my eyes, ignoring the faint discomfort of the ever-present suns, and look upon the monotonous landscape. How very many times I have traversed it! Searching it, scouring the empty waves of dauntless sand. I've seen dunes, plains, towers of weak deposit, the spiked remains of creatures, vast caverns, striking mazes beneath the ground. I've seen where the surface drops into nothing, maybe all the way down to the planet's slumbering, broken core. Horizon to horizon, I think, the ground is auburn and the mountains are black.

I look out as I always do. I remember the words of the strangers.

_Is this whole planet dead?_

I knot my fingers together painfully. Because _I_ know better. I know.

And when the pain becomes just demanding enough behind my eyes, I close them and I see the world for what it used to be.

Lustrous viridian floods the land. Every mountaintop, valley, field, coated in these rogue, wonderful shades of green, unexplored and rampant, rich with secrets and beauty and well-fed leaves. I take a single shaking breath and shut my eyes harder.

More colors rise beneath lazy, sun-stained clouds, turning the living springtime sea into a mosaic with a breathtaking span. Garlands of cream drape weathered branches and buds are lent a dusky blush, some purpling at the tips of their sensitive petals, some with maroon stalks, some with veins of sultry blue or speckles of vibrant yellow. I remember what we named them- lilies. Indigo, strelitzia, forsythia. I had to learn them. When I was young.

The light, I recall, was something of a marvel to me back then, because the colorful fibers of the blanket once garnishing the planet would filter it neatly into even more colors than before, and I do not think they ever had names in the first place. It hurts to remember the time when light was a friend. A beautiful, gentle thing to seek and dance in.

And oh, I almost fool myself into feeling the fragrant, airy breeze on my skin before I force my eyes open again with a strangled gasp and the dull, bare layers of raw stone and sand retake my sight.

I shake the memory away slowly, easing myself back into the present. Once assured of my awareness, I curl my trembling legs forward and sit, gazing listlessly out at reality. I settle myself down and wait. Tendrils of my hair brush at my shoulders, held easily but with posture, my head high and chin tilted up, indicative of my feelings for the desert. I own it now.

And it _is_ alive.

Now that I can focus, I stand, lips parting. Down by the Canyon's edge, I realize, there is a small, steadily moving silhouette. I cross my arms.

"Ah, right. Riddick."

I deign to sneak down a ways and meet him nearer the base of the cliff. Singling out a suitable pedestal shaped projection, I sit back down. I dangle my legs just above the sands and fold my hands primly in my lap. As he trudges nearer and nearer, I feel a growing urge to smile- blasphemy, I know. Am I not at least a professional to _some_ small degree? I fight it down, berating myself silently.

He raises his hand slightly in acknowledgment when he notices me (I realize he's got gloves- I couldn't tell before, because his hands had been bound), then continues right up to the cliff as I speak down to him thoughtfully, "It must be so nice sometimes."

He looks up at me and he doesn't seem to care about the structure most business assumes, because he's nearly beaming. He holds his hands behind his back and rocks a little on his toes. I hope that's not a habit. It makes me want to laugh and blush and spill someone's blood.

"And what would you mean by that, queenie?" Riddick asks, his eyes, remarkably enough, retaining their ability to fluoresce even in the lengthening shadow of the rock. They peer into mine, then fall to my lips, watching them move, though I _still_ feel as if he doesn't really focus on my words.

"Having shoes." I draw one knee in to my chest and touch the fabric wound around my ankle and heel and through my toes. "I mean, you might not be so very quick, but it's not going to hurt _you_ to climb up _there_." I gesture with slight displeasure back at the top of the plateau.

"That's where we're going, is it?" He turns a bit more serious, smile fading to a mild quirk.

"Yes, love."

He considers this for a moment. I start to pull my other leg in as well, preparing to rise with a sad huff, but he says, "Wait."

I tilt my head curiously.

"You get places on something's back most of the time, right?" He tucks his hands in his pockets now.

"I suppose I do," I allow. "When I'm up above ground."

He nods knowingly and seems to come to a conclusion. "Then you can use mine." His smile returns. "When you're up here."

My eyes widen and I look at him curiously. "Not.. impossible..." I answer slowly.

"Here," he says, and edges closer with his back to the cliff, removing hands from pockets. He loops one arm around my lowered leg and gestures for me to lower the other as well, which I do, warily intrigued. The tugging at the corners of my lips resumes, but I barely notice now. My legs wrap around him easily, resting against his waist. I place my palms on his shoulders and curl my fingers in a little, and he briefly responds to that, his respiration catching and holding for a second. A mischievous flash of self-satisfaction runs through me.

"Here.." I repeat quietly, mostly to myself.

He ducks his head to loop something around, something black that catches the light, and turns for one last reassuring glance. "Yeah?" Dark tinted goggles. I can no longer see his strange, pretty eyes.

I nod and push my toes against each other, then gasp when he steps away from the rock and reflexively hold him tighter. My arms snake around his neck, fearful at first, but then they relax and lie still down his chest a ways. I hear him laugh softly as he trudges up the vague path to the flattop. I shift my legs a little in his steady hands (they're warm), and sit up with growing elation.

"Not impossible at all, huh, queenie?" he observes, sounding fittingly successful.

It's a confusing experience, really. I catch my breath and blink a few times. I peer around at my surroundings from this new vantage- much lower than a 'raptor flies, but refreshingly higher than my own body carries me. And I notice, biting my lip with a mixture of nervousness and delight, that I can feel his hips move against and inside my thighs with every step, just like the powerful wingbeats of a 'raptor.

"That's.. That's right, almost up to the top.. Oh, you're doing wonderfully.." My fingers do a small happy dance along the top of his chest.

"Nah. You're light." He steps over dips and loose stones and makes his way up with ease.

"Well," I shoot back, "perhaps to you."

He laughs again and this time, so do I, pleased. I move one hand to his head and point delicately with the other, indicating the opening Chy and Sugar used earlier. I turn my head to speak softly in his ear, "In there, love."

He kneels to let me down just before the shadowed entrance. I press my feet to the stone one by one and stand, flicking my bangs into place. I let myself give a quick smile, just for thanks, and I slip, at long last, through the gap and into the threshold of the Chambers.

I hear him pause to raise the goggles off, and I hear the crunch of his dark boots as he follows.

…

_God bless you beautiful people sending me reviews from up in heaven, which I, a procrastinating demon in purgatory, do not deserve._

_((One last thing. Remember how she has little claws? Think about that. Think about them tracing his bare shoulders. Trailing down the gradual curves. Think about them rasping almost inaudibly against his skin.))_


	10. Chapter 8- To The Swing

I'm an edgy mix of wills as we begin to descend through the layers of cliffside. The tunnels do a bit to clear my poor head, but I doubt they'll be enough.

"There are drops," I recite in gentle warning to my charge. "And there are some twists and there's a good deal of turns to make, but the largest channel here is fairly simple."

"Ah," he scoffs gently, "let there be what there is." He stoops as the ceiling drops, matching my movement without difficulty. "I've got you."

I weigh the wisdom in my next move for a tumultuous half-second before chancing a pause to turn my head and reach out a wary hand, each finger twitching once to catch his attention. Smile slowly reappearing, he takes it, pressing his gloved palm to mine and partly encircling my wrist with his fingers. His thumb roves the base of mine, a seemingly harmless exploration that, nonetheless, sends a threatening rush of heat through my chest.

"Ye-s.. for now." I force myself to reply calmly. I turn away again.

"Well.. Time moves kinda slow here," he adds mysteriously, stepping on with me, continuing to match each one of my strides with almost uncanny, unfaltering precision. I lift my free hand to feel along the rock wall, all the same hardly finding it necessary to steady us any further. His balance fits my balance and we have a fascinating new type of our own just beginning to bloom.

"Haven't seen your little pets around," he goes on, adopting an unworried tone. "But I'm guessing that doesn't mean much."

I confirm pridefully. "No, no, love. Not even with eyes like yours." He listens attentively now. I lower my voice and smile to myself. "Drops, twists, turns like these, _no_ stranger's eyes can search them all."

It's effective enough. He quiets down.

Humming ever softly, I round a shallow corner and come upon a chokepoint where some of the wall has crumbled away into a jagged heap of rocks in the path. Tutting once, I drop Riddick's hand and creep very cautiously up the sandstone shrapnel. I reach up for the top and begin to lift some of it away, cradling each piece downwards and tossing it to the bottom of the pile. Eventually, there is enough space at the top for us to advance through. I beckon Riddick up and, as he comes, I curl each leg over the stones and duck out, landing feet first on the slope of the other side. I reach the floor and look up expectantly for my companion. His boots feel out for a foothold and then he slips through just as I. He rejoins me and our hands find each other's again. We continue on, me in the lead, and the way ahead is fortunately clear.

"Nearly there, now," I promise him, playfulness and anticipation mingling in my voice. There's only one way to reach the Chamber, after all.

He nods when I turn to glance back at him. When I turn away, I spot the hint of sun streams down a ways and my eyes widen. "Nearly _there_!" Leaving a hint of soft, elated laughter shimmering in my wake, I slip down and begin to rush around the rocks with uncontainable haste and pull him after, making my well-known way towards a very special break in the tunnel's shady side. Only once does the link of our hands break apart, and I stop huffily, fingers dancing urgently until he takes them back in his.

"And t-" he starts. "_There_ would be..?" he manages to finish through dodges and attempts to keep up.

"You're about to see, aren't you?" I shake my head and beam at the closeness of the sun peeking through the tunnel. I drag him, faster and faster I clamber, and the light collides with my skin as I burst chest first into it, heart stopping. "We're on our way to the Canyon-Swing!" My heart catches up with my lungs. I shade my eyes and gaze out into the air.

He pretends to gasp softly once he catches up all the way, slowing to stand with me and saying, mock-awed, "How _exciting_." His sarcasm is warm, or meant to be. His breath ghosts my ear and the side of my neck. I feel his hand against the edge of my stomach, feel his fingers shift in mine, turn my head cautiously, holding it with practice just before the tips of my nose and lips would touch his skin. For a beat, we remain here- still, with the dusty winds from beyond the opening tangling around and around the crag. I don't exactly know why. Until I raise my eyes, he doesn't breathe. Until I go to speak again, neither do I.

"Yes, for me."

Partially from building nerves, but mostly for haste, I step forward, out of the rock, and away from his heat. I drop his hand with my next step, with an underlying air of reprimanding. I brace one foot against a hulking stone, preparing to scale it, and pause to look back, smiling in swiftly recovered private joy.

"I expect it to be nothing short of.. _astounding_. For you."

And he laughs in answer (really, he does more than that- he shakes his head very, very slightly, he looks down, he lifts the goggles over his eyes, he scuffs the arid ground with the worn toe of his right boot, he looks up) and he moves to continue following me. Satisfied with this, I push away from the brief clearing of shale and up and over the mass of tumbled, broken rock, slipping quickly down the other side and landing, rushing on even as I hit the ground.

We're traveling over the BoneCanyon itself now- running along a ledge maybe halfway down its otherwise sheer side. For this is the ledge that the tunnel emptied us onto, reached only through such channels, which can often be entered through the crags. There _has_ to be a concentration of tunnels here. It's sacred. It's a _wonderful_ place.

When I reach the shadow of the massive arch above the ledge, I grin and force myself to wait for Riddick.

"We're just beneath the arch, you see?" I explain breathlessly. "That's where it's _fastened_. That's what _holds it up_." He follows my pointing finger along its clawed tip to the underbelly of the half-circle joining the Canyon's twin sides. "Oh, come along, will you!" I bubble excitedly and I take his arm and pull him into the shade with me. We dash through it, following the wide belt of darkness all the way to its beginning. And, there, hooked onto the wall below the base of the arch, _there_, with glimmering ropes of braided sunlight and a smooth, perfectly curved seat of spotless bone, all hanging and steady and ready for flight..

I leap, one, two, skitter, tap! up the rocks to reach its fastenings and wrap my hungry fingers around the wound-up ropes, twining them through the strands and marveling at the spots of gold that play along my skin when I shift the coarse material, when I twist it and tug. Coil by coil, the ropes slide soundlessly out of the notch in the cliffside where they were wedged to keep the whole thing from being lured off somewhere in the Canyon's gaping middle by the wind. It is I what holds it now, and the ropes balloon from my grasp in the restless air.

I look back over my shoulder at my companion's soft 'hm'. From atop the rocks, I can also glimpse the edge over the Canyon. Our next destination.

"It's pretty," he acknowledges, advancing enough to stand beside me again. "Very pretty for a last resort."

"I often feign the need for it," I admit, tilting my head and smiling lovingly at the Swing. I run my thumb up and down the rope and sigh. "I don't think you'll blame me, though.." I trade the rope for the seat, tucking it under my arm and turning to go back down the rocks. "..Once you've tried it."

He follows me through the shadow and nearer to the brink of the ledge. I tread carefully now, slowly, towing the swing along. As we reach the edge, I ravel the ropes around my wrists, testing their tautness, leaning away from the edge, hair falling in tousled waves from my head as I giggle and the ropes hold me up at a precarious angle. I open my eyes and glance at Riddick, wearing a crooked, daring smile. My feet slide until only my heels keep me from falling off.

And, even as he opens his mouth quizzically to speak, realization hits him and I push my feet off the ground, pulling myself up lightning quick and plunging with the seat of bone into the depths of the Canyon below. My cold, bright laughter soars around me.

The Swing whistles down until the ropes reach their limit. I heave and swing my legs over the seat, bracing my soles against the bone and straightening, standing as the Swing climbs again and hurtles closer to the other side. I lift myself upon my toes and rotate, ankles crossing, chin up, switching my hands on the ropes. The walls fall like cascades of desert below- with all the colors of the desert rainbow streaked in them, vermillion and crimson and gingery tan. The winds roar with renewed ferocity, tangling my tresses into a charred chestnut storm, and I let them settle a moment before I call imperially to the surprised convict across the sunlit trench, brows cocked.

"I think I might just _live_ off last resorts someday, Riddick." I pause to step backwards onto the ledge opposite his, backing a few feet along it and pulling the Swing seat with me. The ropes stretch. My ancient, wistful voice rebounds in great echoes throughout the almost-empty place. It takes on a more coy, prompting tone. "Are you about set to try it out yourself now?"

He calls back, "Couldn't keep me from it if you tried, queenie!" And there are notes of the desert in his voice, his smile, too.

I nod approvingly and lift my legs one by one back over the seat. I sit and draw my knees up, disconnecting myself from solid ground and reentering the air. The Swing journeys back to the larger ledge and my companion waits for it and it's passenger patiently.

/

_Hello sweethearts.. I've been berated and wholeheartedly consumed with projects, projects, projects. Stress is abundant and inspiration scarce. But I'll be doing some work on TCS for you now!_

_((The reviews you send truly give me life. I love every darling word of them and I love their __authors! Thank you, sweethearts.))_


	11. Chapter 9- Chamber

My feet find the ledge and touch down, the momentum of the swing rocking me a few steps forward- thrillingly close to my partner, who takes half a surprised step back. I run my tongue over my teeth and smile with smug amusement, retreating a comfortable ways, not yet breaking contact with his appraising eyes.

"There's not much to it," I continue, as if I'd never stopped. My fingers loosen around the ropes. Most of my weight is still held by them and I lean against their ghostly pull. "Although I don't assume you've ridden many swings before?"

He's regained his wits and shakes his head slowly, offering only an apologetic smile.

"Don't tell me you haven't done riskier things." I start to unwind the ropes and watch him think.

"..Fair enough." I think he studies the swing- lifts his face ever so slightly to follow the threads up to the arch. He traces them all the way back to me and seems to notice I haven't spoken. An idea incubates on my tongue.

"There's room.." I trail off briefly, eyes drifting out over the valley. "For two." They flick back to Riddick. His smile darkens almost unnoticeably.

"Would you really..?" He doesn't finish- there's no need. The faltering inquiry trails off into the wind and hangs there, but hangs brief. I shift my balance and turn away primly, rounding the rope and half-sitting on the seat's left edge. I twist slightly to look back at him.

"Why else would I offer?" I retort, following with a sly note in my laugh. I gesture authoritatively for him to sit. "No amount of suns can stay up forever," I add cryptically. "You'd better come along."

And he does.

He steps with quiet skill to my side, rounding the contraption as I did, holding his rope as I do mine. His gloved palm curls around it soundly, his fingers settle against the fibers. It fascinates me. Though all of him does, really, but it is especially so with his steady searching hands.

He looks up at me when he's secure enough. Streaks of light glare grey against the dark glass of his goggles, and my eyelids shudder briefly in reaction. I smile softly, bringing my knees up, resting my folded legs partly over his lap, and reassure him one last time.

"You see how I trust you already?" I praise him. I take his hand from his knee (he starts very slightly, having been preoccupied with my legs, I think) and guide it to my side's now empty rope, positioning his arm behind my shoulders and letting my fingers trail along his knuckles before they fall and splay over the seat. "There you go, lovey, you're all set.." I purr. We face each other for a moment, my eyes wondering, his expression one of appreciation, maybe pride.

"May I?" he prompts, tone amused. Not impatient, but not exactly asking for further delay.

I click my tongue, brisk. "Naturally."

And so he kicks off.

I sing with adoration as his boots leave the land and swing into the open air. His shoulders tense instinctively. Wind envelopes us with the usual initial ferocity. The world sways. He watches the canyon diligently, some of the muted reds reflected in his goggles. I watch him, curious of his reaction, grinning all the while. You must understand what a holiday it is for me, to take a passenger. And a passenger who's not swung before, at least like this.. And a passenger so delightfully warm, warm-blooded skin that heats in the suns..

He lets out his breath as his feet near the rock once more, scraping along the pebbles and slowing us down, holding us. I find myself protesting suddenly, on a (sort of) justifiable whim.

"Wait, wait- let it run another!" I beg, excited. I take his arm before I've even noticed what I'm doing, shaking him gently in my plea. "Just once more and then on we'll go, I promise."

He cocks a brow inquisitively, but he doesn't argue. He keeps his feet off the ground until the swing reaches its limit and pauses there. I close my eyes, satisfied at least for a few seconds more. And then the retreat begins.

The world closes around us more gently this time, and from behind.

I give the ghost of a joyful sigh and rest my head on his shoulder, the contours of my hair pooling over his neck and down his back, rippling in the air. I can feel some of his focus on landing begin to slip away, feel it in his quieting pulse, and my smile returns, quieter too. He relaxes his hold on the ropes, even, I feel him lift his head, presumably to glimpse the shifting sky. A fleeting, lovely, curious hum rumbles in his chest and up through his pursed lips. My toes push against each other in an effort to suppress an open laugh, but it comes up anyway in a muffled answering 'hmmhm!'

The translucent fingertips of pendular force grace my chin and tilt it upwards and I feel as well the fleeting presence of the ground below the seat. The second pause ends and forwards we go for the last time. I lift my eyelids reluctantly. Placing my hand over Riddick's commandingly, I lower my knees and let my feet dangle in apprehension of the disembarking.

"Me first, of course," I sigh.

I slip off the seat and immediately upon landing skip off to the side. He catches on just fast enough, dropping the ropes, grabbing the seat with one hand, and sliding down, one foot after the other. Looking very pleased with himself (well, more than usual, maybe), he rejoins me in a few slow steps and holds the swing out for me.

"And me, of course, second," he finishes as I rest my hands on the swing and take it, running my thumbs over the rough patterns. His hands linger between mine before returning to their position just above his pockets. "That was your once more, queenie." I meet his gaze slyly. The bare hint of a smirk crooks his mouth as he continues. "On we go."

"Yes," I allow, turning obligingly. "Naturally." I carry the swing and parade up to the face of side of the canyon we now walk beside. He follows and waits as I loop the ropes around a hooked protrusion in the wall. He raises one hand for me to take before stepping down- and this must be more for show than absolute necessity, considering my observable knowledge of the rocks of my homeworld- so I touch the back of his hand lightly and step. I sense another of those strange face to face moments even before it passes. I lower my eyes to the ground until both my feet have met it securely, and then I raise them to his hidden ones.

"Don't be controversial now," I reprimand with a sneaking, wry smile. He snickers in return- "Says you!"- and lifts our hands a breath higher as I step around him, reversing our positions.

"This way." And with that, I bring my hands together behind my back, grin, and step backwards and down into one of the many great rifts running from the canyon's top to this very ledge.

Though the Swing is wondrous in any light, I welcome the coolness of the dark maw of the cliffside.

"Queenie..?" I hear him call cautiously. He approaches the rift and the shadow of his form is cast in the sandy light. I glance up and motion for him to come down, turning away and starting off into the fault. The patter-thud of his landing echoes behind me.

Now we've entered one of the winding spaces inside the canyon's flank. The rift runs wide and straight and opens just where you'd expect it to open: into the intact center of an otherwise broken underworld.

"Wait until you meet them, love," I breathe, taking his arm and swinging it lightly for emphasis (with purpose this time, though still in an appealing way). He raises one brow. "Wait until you see what you're reckoning with."

I step round the corner and the darkness is complete. I pull him along as he hurried to remove his darling goggles and, hushed, we look together deep into the insides of the mountain.

I crouch and slide my fingertips into the fabric twined around my ankle, taking from its secret place my tiny glass vial of scent.

"They won't touch you while I'm here."

I straighten regally and prepare the bottle between thumb and delicate forefinger. He watches me carefully, as he does everything, really, as I hold it up and push down on the top. A fair mist drifts out into the dark. My lips part in anticipation, and he follows my gaze out into the silent cavern.

His breathing stops when the rocks come to life.

They rouse, a multitude of great heads shifting, rising from their nests. Sleepy claws drag along the sunless sandstone. A staccato of isolated calls, some muffled, some piercingly clear, some far off and some very, very close, advances slowly through the air, mixing with rustles and faint scrapes to form the rough melody of waking creatures. They number in the three hundreds- cannibalism accounting for falls in that number and mating accounting for peaks.

"I've heard of cities before." I glance at Riddick and smile beguilingly. "Surely they compare?"

His hand hovers over his pocket, as it has a way of doing habitually, but this time, it hovers with an air of restrained agitation. His heart hums in his chest, dull beneath the disconcerting noise surrounding. He answers in a tone low with either awe, precaution, or both.

"Queenie, I'd feel better in one of those right now.." His eyes rove the Chamber slowly, taking in every creature stirring below, above, around. "..and I'm worth five-k units brought back dead."


	12. Chapter 10- Under Countless Conditions

As his scent clouds the remnants of mine they bristle.

Like stars they slip from the walls, calls rolling out faster. Hungrier..

"Follow me," I advise, and, in a skip, move to the edge, jumping down to a lower ledge, shushing a sleepy trio and shooing them away so Riddick has a place to land. He does, and the impact sends them cringing away from our feet. He watches them- all of them- with heavy suspicion, and I take up his hand so gently he hardly notices.

"Best to come along."

We race along the ledge, raptors scattering in our wake, still uncertain, drawn to my scent but wary of his. They've tasted gunfire and metal before. It hangs in his clothes like the damp of an evil rain.

"I call it the Outlook.." I inform him as we go, my intention being to keep him from agitating the ranks any more with his fear. I do not think there is much fear in him, or they'd surely come closer, scream for his blood, even try to take him. He's strange and very suitable in this way. But still, fear is not always an immediate thing. I go on. "Where deals are made. Far below the sands."

Spires rise soon before us in the gloom, each higher than the last, the crooked staircase of the Chamber. "You can climb?" We stop at the first projection, raptors still curled around its sisters. He gazes up the rocky trail, intrigued but undaunted. I look him up and down thoughtfully. "Yes.." I say. I gather up my hair near the top of my head and knot it (without much precision, alas), wrapping it up with a few loops of the cloth bands up my wrist as I speak. "You can climb." He glances at me wryly.

I drop his hand temporarily to scale the first 'step', lifting myself up and pressing one foot in the valley between spikes, the other higher up on a flat space behind them. I push up, ending up wedged between and slightly in back of the first and second spires. I crouch and call for my companion, reaching down and twitching my fingers urgently.

He nods with determination and imitates me, pulling himself up until his foot can reach the nook, where he straightens and stands easily, holding onto each of the spires with each of his hands. I grin as we face each other and touch the lenses of his goggles gingerly, lifting them over his eyes so I can see them better and he can see in general. His foreign, silver-blue gaze is full of something- contentment..?

"I know, I know," I say when he smiles smugly. "You're wonderful at everything. Let's go."

I rise languidly and brace each hand against this spire and the next, lifting my legs and swinging my feet up to touch down in a higher crook. From there, I slip round a ledge, seeking out breathless footholds, making my rapid way up to the uppermost space- twixt the base of the largest protrusion and the middles and tips of others, all arranged to make a sort of fairy-circle surrounding this, the most spacious of lofts. I pad into its centre and inhale, and when I turn he's already there. Leaning against the last spire, calculating expression, crossed boots, and all.

"Welcome," I announce, spreading my hands graciously. "To the Outlook."

That being said, I cross my legs briskly and sink to the floor in one fluid motion, fingers joining at their delicate tips and lips curved at a dangerous angle.

The calls are muffled now that we are sheltered far above the nests, but they've since grown in number, blended into a dim roar of a backdrop, gossiping whistles and snaps. Riddick's eyes wander the smooth circumference of the enclosure, the spire ring, and the strata layers that form reddish yellow circles in the floor. As he takes it in, surely not missing a detail of the space and its composition, he follows my steps, halting just before me and sitting to face me, finishing off his observations with a slow blink and focusing on me with a self-assured smile of his own.

"You're the first of your kind to see this place," I whisper excitedly to him, leaning in as if there are listeners in the shadows. "Shall we begin?"

He imitates me accordingly, placing his hands in his lap, but holding them looser, and he nods readily in response, when he responds.

I draw a breath and lean back, launching into the dawn of the day's propositions.

"The first matter is merely one of safety. Did you see all of those butterflies, my love? Each and every wicked one of them.." I pause. "Belongs.." I draw myself up pompously and press my fingers to my chest with grandeur. "..To me." He smiles a little, at my antics, I think, and again nods his understanding. "I hate to see them hurt and I despise seeing them being ended. Under any circumstances." I smile back darkly. "Ever." Another, more solemn, nod. "You will avoid this at all costs. You are not to speak of them to your company. Of course, you will not have to be silent for long- they'll see for themselves soon enough. While the Suns hang horrid in the sky, speak nothing of them and nothing of me. And even when the Suns have abandoned you, speak nothing of me. I will not be able to help them."

"When do the Suns abandon me, queenie?" He poses the question with calm curiosity.

"Oh!" Once more I lean in closer, trying to keep the creeping energy of my voice from alerting the raptors, pressing my hands over his. He blinks and wrinkles his nose. "Well, this doesn't really come next, but since you ask it of me.. It's a matter of days." My shoulders shiver with excitement and I curl them in.

His eyes sink to my lips again as he answers softly, "Ah."

"It happens very slowly." I start to lose focus, speaking vague, speaking whimsical. "Very softly. Very sweetly. It cannot come soon enough, for us. But then.." I shake and refocus on him suddenly, and his gaze is again fixed wondering on my eyes. "What's another moment more among decades?" I let out a long sigh and fall back, reclining on the rock and facing the ceiling, fingers trailing away from his. "When it happens, the Canyons' insides are closed to you and all who travel with you. You must not trespass in a single nest on this world once it has become dark all over. If you or yours should be so foolish as to break this rule, you will be, with neither a doubt nor a shred of hesitation, ripped apart and relished."

"Sounds nice," he says, somewhat absently. He watches me single out a lock of hair that had managed to sneak from its place in my ribbon, tilting his head with half-disguised fascination when I commence the arduous process of twisting it into a tight rope.

"Hmm, right, so what's next? Ah." I sit up, fingers still at work. "Yes. And this is a lengthier one, now. I myself blame it on the fact that these often take a bit of a thinking-through- rules. Still on the subject of my butterflies.. I can excuse two situations alone. You may kill in defense of your own life only. This other rule takes a bit of explaining first. You see, I will allow you one other survivor." He looks at me sideways. I go on without wavering. "But this is, mm, somewhat hollow of me to do. You see.." I chew my tongue. "There's only so much I can do to control my butterflies. Their hunger, their.. Tastes. I will do everything in my, thankfully substantial, power to preserve a person for you. It's really more like I stop them once there's only you and another left. A game, a game of 'who's left standing'. Yes?" He processes my reasoning and nods. "Of course, if there is a person you favor.." My eyes travel the loop of the ceiling thoughtfully. "For them, I will not let you kill- but.. I suppose I will let you use force in their defense. If you somehow wind up considering them worth the trouble." He snickers. I'm still not entirely sure what he finds so amusing, but I go on. "You may use your precious metal-spitting weapons. If you must. Any material, in fact, that you should gain anywhere outside the Nests is yours to utilize. But never.." My tone turns icy, heavy with the weight of this final rule. "Never are you permitted to use flame. No pure fire. It is.. It is unthinkably inhumane. Even in this case."

All of this and more he has received in attentive silence. I blow out my breath with finality and spread my fingers questioningly.

"Changes to these rules are allowed strictly through extensive discussion and clear, consensual agreement on both of our parts. We've much time now." I tilt my head in a prompting manner. "What would you have me change?"

Yet, he regards me without a word, half smile again playing on his lips.

And then..

"When it's over, will I see you again?"

My eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh." I tip my head back, rubbing the base of my jaw and sighing. "Well.." With a drawn out 'hmn' I level with him and say inconclusively, "You'll want to take yourselves off my planet, won't you?"

He shrugs. Ah! So silly!

"Departure is to be decided once the butterflies are settled down for their next fast and the Suns have returned. Then you may take whatever is left of your company and leave my planet on whichever sufficiently-functioning wreck you fancy most." I grin brightly and add, "There are hundreds."

He waits calmly for me to go on. He knows me little but he learns quite fast.

"You.." I go on, more softly. "Are welcome to stay here.. as long as you wish."

The satellite blue ringing his pupils is decidedly one of the three most beautiful colors I've ever known. If the other two had names, perhaps I would compare them.

"Mhm," he nods, satisfied with this compromise. "Sounds nice." And he means it this time.

"Undoubtedly," I conclude, equally as pleased.

There he goes again, seeming to smile at something!

"I'm beginning to have some concerns about your little smiles, love." I tilt my head in question. "What is it this time..?"

He laughs. "Nothing, it's just.." He gives the slightest shake of his head. "Why d'you use such big words, queenie?" He looks at me, mystified but apparently amused by it.

I blink, then start to smile too, understanding. "You blissfully simple, mediocrity-absorbed infidel," I state, recitation plain and perfect. "I haven't used one this entire time."

His full laugh is a wonderful thing, harsh and captivating, tearing like comets do through the atmosphere, and he runs his tongue over his back teeth before he closes them. "Fine," he says, grinning (like some savage sand-dwelling cat). "I won't ask again."

"If you find it better not to. Now. Up!" I lift one hand delicately, then the other, holding them primly side by side for him. "Up and I'll show you to the maps. Those ought to be a treat for you," I smile beguilingly, as he stands and takes my fingers gently, pulling me as I had commanded. "You'll know every festering hive and mass burial site this side of the Suns.." I turn, holding both our hands behind my back and retreating father into the Outlook as he chuckles.

All along the staggered back walls, soaking in the shadows and sedimentary dust, the maps are hung. Some are composed of irregularly shaped hides, stained with dark markings and symbols. Some are clusters of ancient blanched parchment, each featuring a different geographical subject and positioned according to its location relative to the others. Some were made for the air, showing mountain ranges and full of charred holes that indicate crash sites. Some were made for underground, crowded with lines and labels that represent tunnels, entrances, exits. Each one is exquisite and I did a fine job on them all, thank-you-very-much.

He gives a low whistle and I stand back, watching him expectantly as he drifts away from me and closer to the crowded wall. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth when he lifts one gloved hand to splay his fingers against the paper and dyed skins.

"Of course," I interrupt cheerily, padding to the right and lifting one map corner to reach into the alcove behind it. "I have more.." Now padding to the left, carrying a small box under my arm and seeking out another secret hollow to empty of its treasures. "Than just drawings.." Now placing one foot in that hollow to boost myself up a little and draw more items from another located higher up in the wall. "For you, my noblest of guests. Come and see these, love.." Now plopping myself down beneath the vast display and spreading the variously sized squares I'd collected upon the smooth floor and gazing with profound love down at them.

He steps over and sits, curious, taking the nearest square and inspecting it.

"Ship data.." He breathes, recognizing it almost immediately.

"Indeed, my darling," I purr, now hefting the box into my lap and running my fingertips along the lid's edge. "From all their logs, their pretty blinking screens, and some of the older ones are from their very mouths." I laugh darkly. "I needed to know what had become of this world, you see. What had splintered it into pieces (here I mash my hands together, then pull them apart violently), a new star system of its own? What had become of the docile giants that once circled it and shaded it from these three soulless Suns? Was everything really dead? All.. All of it?" I stop myself there and dust off the lid sadly. "I've had many visitors test this planet for me. I've been up in their ships, three times, looked down on it myself." I flick the box open, feeling his eyes on me. "Never did like what I saw." I look up and shrug without much true regret. "All so pointless. And I've long since stopped trying by now, lucky for you and yours."

He puts the scrap down gravely. "So I see."

"Mm, yes. Here they all are," I say, discarding the subject quickly. "The whole crust, every layer. This is a particularly good one," I nod, lifting a dull, flat device gingerly from the pile inside the chest. He holds out his hands patiently. "From the last batch, actually. They were very interested in rocks- their leader had this in his shirt. I've taken very good care of it, all this time."

"I'm sure he's very grateful," he muses, turning the scanner over once and switching it on.

I wrinkle my nose at him spitefully.

He turns his attention back to the screen, becoming immersed fairly easily. "Not bad.." He experiments with the musty controls, navigating the flickering holographic projection of the planet's layers. "Really could've used one of these in the Slam, actually."

I toy with a loop of fabric around my wrist. "Yes, well, I'm giving it to you, so." He looks up again, but in surprise. I twiddle my fingers at it disparagingly. "So there you go. If you can use it to get off my planet, you can use it wherever else you please, as far as I'm concerned." He blinks once, beginning to smile and starting to say something, stopping, shaking his head, and going back to the projection. I find myself wanting to smile too, even after I've reminded myself of my current professional position. I shiver it off and put the box aside, scooting a little closer to Riddick and tilting my head at the scanner. I wait for him to find us- a questionable blue dot blinking in the belly of the Canyon- and open my mouth to begin the final part of my instructions.

"There are places you can hide, if you need to. The rocks will all be emptied by the time cover is necessary. Your crew.." I take the scanner from him gently and adjust its focus, centering on a cluster of even fainter dots, glowing weak red. "Is here. And look, they're heading straight for the scientist camp. Resourceful little creatures. No doubt they'll make use of it, there's this odd machine there that turns light into liquid and they certainly can't get at the water in the Hollows. If they find a ship there.." Here I pause to laugh, but not happily- warningly. "Well, my soldier, you mustn't let them use it until the time is right. Until my terms have been satisfied, yes? Our terms." I incline my head and he does the same laughingly, to signify his agreement. "Ship or not, it's a suitable area for our purposes. They forged right through the Canyon to get there, too. They'll have to do it again to get back to- what's your ship called, love?"

"Hunter," he answers easily.

"How adorable. To reach the Hunter, then, they'll be passing, ooh, let's see.." I chew my tongue, center on the BoneCanyon and tap the screen twice to dislocate each rock layer from the others. Every hollow space inside is revealed in a gridded fashion. "All these. There's a large concentration of pockets around the site. Some may be, mm, inhabited, by outcasts, and the like.. But they won't be when the Suns are down. They'll be emptied all at once. If you should need to take shelter in one, say, crossing between your ship and the site, do it. Wait for me. I'll never be far, I promise." I touch his hand lightly and our eyes connect, sort of a brief, reassuringly warm glance. Ich, I'm not used to those. "Remember all these 'riddles', love, because they're going to save your life. Very, very soon."

"Maybe." He closes the scanner slowly and twirls it around his hand once before slipping it into his pocket. "But you're sure making it fun for yourself." He looks at me with glittering eyes- dear god, what is that look? I cannot, for the life of me, place it. It's not content, I was wrong before. But it can't be admiration, it isn't nearly innocent enough. And nobody's eyes look like that when they're simply amused. No, it has aspects of all these things and more, and I cannot, for the life of me, decide whether I distrust it or enjoy it more.

"You're making it fun for me, didn't you know that, little spaceman?" I scoop all the papers into the box and clasp it's corners, rising with it in my hands and turning to place it back in its shelf while he watches.

I gesture for him to follow, padding back the way we came across the Outlook. The storm of raptor calls and their long echoes creeps back up the rocks to greet us. I lean against a spire, surveying the cavern for a moment. He does the same, and his gaze is now cold.

Softly, I propose. "Time we brought you back to your rocket ship, don't you think?"


	13. Chapter 11- Promise

A trip past the peaks, over the swing, and back into wasteland leaves us heading off in the direction of the crash-site, me upon his back and him listening good-naturedly as I lovingly point out every landmark in my desert.

"There's the mountain range of the eastern waste, on the horizon line. And there's the distant silhouettes of the petrified forest, where I never go, and you shouldn't either. And then there's the great cliff which used to run with the torrents of a massive white waterfall.. And.."

And so on, and so forth.

"You will love the eclipse. You will just love it." I'm dreaming up the stories on my tongue as he consults the layers-compass, focused as he is on the smaller version of the world around him sitting in his gloved hand. "The orange goes out in the prettiest way.." I reminisce, lost in the colors inside my head. "Like it's fighting the black-velvet shadow of the planet, like it screams.." I snap my fingers softly. "Right before it disappears."

He clicks the compass shut and readjusts my legs in his arms. It lurches me up a little higher and my grasp tightens around the straps of his tanktop. He tips his head up slightly so I can see his laughing smile, and I shake my head at him with narrow eyes.

"I still wonder if you listen to me," I say, in a vaguely complaining tone.

"I listen to your voice, queenie."

"Yes, but to me."

"..Nope."

"Well, alright," I sigh resignedly. I don't mind him just listening to my voice. I mean, not really. I think.

We pass through more of the rocky shadows of the isolated crags we wander through. Sand whispers suggestions as I try to think of what to say next.

"Do you like to look at my lips?" I ask suddenly, glancing down at him in question.

His step falters. His breath catches. But it doesn't last. After the ghost of a pause, he continues walking, but with less energy, and his heartbeat practically pounding through every inch of his skin.

"I do." A cautious admittance. Slow. Gentle. Nothing of the turmoil I feel in his veins shows through.

I start to rest my chin on his head tentatively, stop, reconsider, and do it anyway. His steps falter again. And then they just end altogether. In the long shadow of a broken overhang, we're halted.

"Wh-y?" I ask, with almost malicious softness, dragging the syllable past my teeth.

The wind plays through my hair. He breathes in. He doesn't breathe out.

And I've never felt a hurricane before, but from the stories I've heard, there was one in his hands. They've dropped my legs and he's spun me to face him before my feet have even hit the ground and my sharp, surprised intake of air has passed my teeth. I blink and realize that they've already captured my waist. The sandstone wall at my back digs into my skin, which I don't like, but.. Holy lord on high, there's this warm pressure pooling from where his thumbs dig into my stomach..

"Because there's things I want to do to them, queenie," he answers, in that near-whisper voice that slyly retains its low, deep rumblings, and he's barely inches from the very topic of his, mm, desires. My wide eyes are locked on his face. I barely notice the exhilarated smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, and I barely catch it before the forces of fascination and rapture break, like the heavens at dawn, over my face. What things, what things, what things? He's very close to me..

But he takes a deep breath, shaking his head and smiling evasively.

"Can't do 'em out in the open."

He hesitates there- this dark, this powerful thing, holding me someplace between stranger and lover with his eyes and his hands, relaxing.. for one searing second. Neither of us breathe. And then.. He steps away, fingers trailing from my hips, and I lower my hands into his unwittingly. He guides us away from the rock, back into the sun, before finally letting go.

"Well," I say faintly, trying to sound as if it all makes perfect sense to me. "Of course you can't." My eyes linger on him suspiciously as he turns to keep walking (I feel that, behind the tinted glass, he's watching me regain myself with interest). I fall in step by his side. The scent of burnt metal is growing heavier in the air and the presence of cosmic clutter is becoming more apparent in the sands around us. "But if I were to visit your Hunter.. If I visited the Hunter sometime in this semi-eternal afternoon.."

He smiles sideways and offers me his arm. "Take even more precious time outta your day for someone like me? Nah, queenie.."

It's just his way, I think.

I readjust my shoulders with a vague sense of dignity and shoot him my own cutting smile as I lace my arm in his. "You know, you are very persuasive, my Riddick, in your own ironic way." He shrugs modestly. "Oh please, you know full well," I chide, accusingly. "Know what you're doing and know how to do it.. I ought to be scared to visit you. Who knows what you'd have me do if I did?"

He turns his head a little to murmur against my hair, "Careful, queenie, don't you give me ideas."

"Ideas?" I exclaim in playful incredulity. "Well, maybe I'll just send you off you right here and now."

"S'not a bad time to," he notes. "Actually.. I wish it was." We aren't walking any more, I realize with sinking spirits. He glances ahead at the looming shadow of the Hunter, grey against the sky. "If neither one of us wants to be noticed.." He trails off on the foreboding sentence. I purse my lips and follow the shadow of his warning with my eyes, out to sealess sand and the shipwreck baking in its half-toxic waves.

"There is more cover to the left of the ship," I finally tell him, nodding at the safest patch nearby. "So you go that way, alright?"

"Sure, queenie."

We've paused for goodbyes, it seems, me biting at the inside of my mouth a little woefully and swinging his hand with both of mine, to the inaudible tempo of my own vacillation. "I meant it, Riddick, I really do think I'll visit."

And ah, there's that incessant wind, tugging at my hair every chance it gets.

He reaches up carefully and runs the curve of his finger along the bottom of my lip. I keep very still as he does this, eyes fixed on him curiously, and smile slightly when he's done. (Not for any particular reason.)

"See you, queenie," he says, sounding the way I feel, and gently chucking the tip of my chin before he turns to walk on, parting our ways, returning to his ship. And the figure he cuts- it fascinates me terribly. This blue, blue spaceman, returning to his ship.

So I allow myself to watch him go, under the notion that I'm simply making sure he follows my instructions, before I too turn away and melt into the shade and sandstone of the rocky desert from whence I strayed.

Humming some ebb-flow song that I've since forgotten the words to, I touch spires for balance and practice lazy arabesques as I wind my way towards the Beds.


	14. Chapter 12- Gunfire Guttural

There's work to be done.

(I have a tendency to forget this, don't I? Oh, don't I..)

I am surrounded by spires, twisting into the technicolor sky and making me feel as if I wander through an orchard. Yes, a redstone orchard.

When I find one most suited to my height, I change course languidly and meander up to it, humming. It's just a leap with these things, just a little leap, and then you anchor your hands around the opening at the spiretop and clamber up the rest of the way. And you swing your legs over the edge with a soft sound of triumph, closing your eyes- dropping, dropping into darkness.

My feet contact the ground and I immediately sink to a crouch, fingertips following suit of my toes, touching the powdery bedrock gently. I look up as ephemeral clouds of dust rise around me. The light is bluing and it drifts through spiretops everywhere.

But it's very still- it's very, very still.

I look round, rising quietly, greeted with nothing, nothing but empty rock and shadows.

"Butterflies.." I call in a whisper, with some trepidation. The Beds are by far the closest to the crashed ship, I remember, and all my nerves sting sharply for a mind-blurring instant. Have humans come creeping in where they aren't wanted, where they don't belong? Where my butterflies sleep?

I wade through the darkness and pale sunbeams, searching every wall for the spiral of a tail, the outline of a straying claw.

"Butterflies?" I knot and unknot my hands repetitively.

And when it finds me, the sound spears my chest and spins me around, lungs seizing: scraping.

Eyes wide and tremulous, I step in multiple blurred directions at once, trying to trace the scratches, the peeling of walls and gnawing of lumpy alloy deposits. But it seems to come from everywhere. I try to follow it with quick, halting steps. It spirals, a painful noise, in every hollow turret.

"Call to me, damn you," I moan, ducking past an opening, diving down a pathway, touching every wall, every rivet, every inch.

Until finally one of them calls.

I run towards the sound, highlighting the air in its bright brevity. Through twists and blue light.. It bounces.

"Oh my lord-" I gasp, upon rounding the corner, and they're all waiting for me with invisible grins, clustered around something on the far wall.

I rush to my butterflies and take each great head in my hands one by one, whispering my love and 'darling-you-frightened-me's with my forehead pressed to each grey helm. I move deeper into the crowd, until there are more grey bodies than blue light, reaching, kissing, whispers. I realize what they've been scratching at..

And they've made progress, wonderful progress, on this wall. Who knows how long they've been digging for. Or what their reason was to start in the first place..

I can almost stand in the mouth of the tunnel they've made.

"What have you been up to.." I murmur, placing a hand on the newly uncovered rock, running it up the side and around the curve of the top.

Gently, but insistently, a stone-hard nose nudges my hand aside. My butterflies chirp excitedly at me as they push past, deep into the brand new tunnel they've made. I watch one after another slink away into darkness. Somewhere in the middle of the stream of a procession, I decide to push off the wall and walk amidst them, following alongside their gently shuffling feet. Silent, curious. And soon, farther down, the scratching picks up again.

But I'm starting to smell it now.

The Beds are by far the closest to the crashed ship..

There is a chorus of elated shrieks, tittering celebration, distantly echoing through the tunnel. I gasp. They must've broken through. They've broken through..

And I break into a run.

We all do.

My butterflies surge down the slowly narrowing corridor with new fervor. Their chattering fills my ears, my head. And the ceiling is closing in on me. It comes to pass, that moment at which I must sink to a crouch simply to move any further. And not long after, it becomes a crawl. Bodies slipping all around me, their wings batter me in their haste. I know they don't mean it, I know..

Oh, it's so strong, how come I couldn't notice it sooner? The smell of blood, of humans. It shouldn't be so very close, but it is.

Yes, and there's the light. I flatten myself to my elbows, dragging my body along, with clenched teeth. It's nothing but sand, we're so close to the surface.

Where the light is, there is shade. I emerge from the tunnel very suddenly, stifling a yelp as I tumble from the opening. I sit up, eyes adjusting, one hand still covering my mouth, to find myself in a ditch, a shallow, but very, very wide, sort of a..

Grave.

My back is up against the wall in an instant.

"Ah," I announce a bit breathlessly, my eyes seeing painfully clearly now the plethora of dead, lying lifeless and reeking before me. "Of course."

Their stench has seeped into every layer of my planet, I am sure of it. Some have gashed faces, and others torn stomachs, twisted limbs. Not one has clean clothing on. Not one has clean skin. Oh, only bloodstains, only drying or half-dried blood.

Of course, this makes my butterflies ecstatic.

They are claiming and creeping through the choice meats, black shadows in the blue shadows amidst the red cloth-and-skin-colored shadows. Fluid and trading low clicks, occasional high-pitched quarrels over a body. One, in an act most darling and gruesome, approaches me with her invisible grin to drop a severed chunk of.. Er.. Leg, I think? at my feet, tail curling proudly.

"Oh, how sweet, my Itsy-girl," I say as calmly as I can, speaking with all the gratitude I can muster and patting her spiked head. "Run along back to your brothers, my darling."

I think I prefer to watch from beside the mouth of the tunnel for now.

Thoughts of discovery do enter my head. I listen for noise outside this tiny bubble of putrid paradise. Squinting up, I observe a semi-translucent covering over us, a semblance of plastic. There are distant shouts that I can detect, staining faraway air. Men's voices..

I glance at the dwindling members of the mass grave. Men look so funny when they're dead. But the live ones are a bit less.. Agreeable.

Bit by bloody bit they, and the women and the children (which saddens me, it really does, unimportant as they all are now), disappear into the hungry maw of the tunnel, dragged away for a blue-sun feast in the dark of the Beds.

Suddenly there is a new scent overpowering the blood. It is sweat. The sounds of heavy breath and footsteps in the sand approach.

"Get back inside!" I command in a panicked whisper, but my butterflies are already crowding into the tunnel. They click at each other and flow on fleet claws, tails whipping the walls as they scrabble away into darkness in twos and threes.

But they'll never be quite fast enough. Will they?

And the tunnel will never be wide enough. Will it?

I can hear the human breath clearly now, ragged on the air beyond us. He must be just above our heads by now, I hear the scrape of his cargo being dragged behind him.

I give a soft and helpless 'oh' before spinning around and ducking down after my butterflies. Still more crowd in behind me, debating in frenzied hush with one another, dragging along the last scraps of the bounty. I don't know which butterflies are left behind. I don't even know how many are left behind.

I push with my toes, skin my knees kneeling up, stain my hands grasping at the wall and pulling myself finally, finally, back into the Beds, gasping. I stumble from the tunnel with butterflies slipping around my legs, like a small sea of grey and black. All of them are dissipating to guard their strong-smelling treasures in their own corners and upon the walls. One by one they slither up the sides of the cave and melt into the dark, escaping the blue light, escaping the very-much-alive human who came so close to discovering us.

I bring my hand to the sharp contours of my chest and breathe. I open my mouth to reprimand them in a low voice.

"Greedy things, did you even leave anything behi-"

Gunfire is something that fills up a space for miles. Its implosion beginning to its explosion end, its fire-smell, its shrapnel sound, its wailing light, all of it.

For a split second, it fills the Beds.

(We do not know how guns work. Just that we hate them greatly.)

I realize I've dropped to all fours. My hands are working furiously, pulling butterflies from the tunnel, dragging them behind me- me; more shield than woman in these white-light seconds. My lips are moving, crying out for order, sanity, but the bangs and the roiling bodies (with their grey armor clashing) cancels my words before they've even a chance to hit the bloodstained air.

Calls and scuffling ricochet off the walls and down the tunnel, crisscrossing, like bullets, like a multitude of crucifixes.

I think the shots have stopped. I think there are still butterflies left in the tunnel.. But there can't have been more than three shots.. And I heard no wounded hollers except those of the human creature, who came upon us so, so unexpectedly.

With everyone else safe behind me and held there by my outspread arms, I wait at the mouth of the tunnel, eyes fixed on it in fear, chest rising and falling rapidly, quiet beginning to settle once more, slowly, but surely. Yes.

And then Iris, my Itsy-girl, emerges, two of her brothers close behind her. Their invisible grins have grown quite wide. And behind them..

The one with the dark hair and skin and eyes, which had been so full of surly remarks and unrefined bitterness once. There had been a warm light in them once, which made them look more brown than black. Now, with it gone, leaving them glazed and cold, they simply look black.

What did they call him? I think..

Zeke?

It was Zeke.

There is a shiver of triumph passing through the butterflies of the Beds- an infectious whispery laughter, as they begin to advance. My arms do nothing to keep them at bay and I lower them numbly. They encircle it- him- the body. The prize, the crown jewel of this raid. The freshest kill.

I back away and let them weave around me, watching the motionless corpse until it is too thickly surrounded by hungry grey creatures to see. And then I turn away, sighing lightly and sinking to sit against the wall. I rest my cheek in my hand and wait for them to finish.

Surely others will come after him now.

What will Riddick think, I wonder? What will he say?


	15. Chapter 13- Unraveling

It's not so strange now, the great corpse of machinery.

When a thing has lain so long, has stopped smoking, stopped steaming.. Well, it begins to sink into the desert. Or its presence does, somehow.

At the very least, it's not quite so strange a sight to me now as it was when it fell. (Fell and fell..)

I push my hair out of my eyes and blink. My toes are buried in another being's footprints. The one I followed, here, to the doors of the Hunter.. Those wide, dull metal sheets, locked in their open positions, malfunctioning silently and rather useless. Useless against invaders. Useless against me.

The moment of decision comes to and end.

I lift my parasol high overhead and run (within its shadow) down the gentle slope of the sand that the great ship had earlier disturbed into mounds all around its bruised body. Catching my breath, I slip into the dark line of shade cast by the Hunter's hulking form. The shadows all seem bigger, colder, when traveling in them alone, and wingless..

As such, the doors are really the only entrance within sight that I can reach. Safely.

Keeping low, I edge along the wall, rounding the corner and peeking about. The doors appear to be unwatched. I turn away briefly to spread my parasol, flinging sand from its folds effectively, and then to find a crack in the towering wall to secure a rippling black corner in. It billows out from the spot, marking my starting point wordlessly and set to await my return. I turn my attention back to the doors. I ready myself for my next move. Jaw set, I seize the edge of the corner and round it, feet barely touching the ground as I close the gap between me and the opening. I dart inside. Into the Hunter. My fingers leave no traces, and the brief, scratchy whisper of sand against soles is the only sound in my wake.

Immediately I seek a way off the floor. I scamper up the narrow slant of a half-crushed beam, towards the cavities of the dented ceiling. Hands fluttering one over the other, feet follow.. I suck in a breath and reach out, out for a gleaming pole, pull, pull myself up over grating, ledge.. Settle. I crouch, small, surveying, from this new vantage point, the great grey alley I seem to be traveling along. Blue shadows line the walls, windows thick and caked with congealed sand and dust. Thoughtfully, I release my breath.

I draw my fingers together tight..

The boom sounds emptily through the walls, originating where the side of my fist hits loosened metal and reverberating out like a bright black prayer through a pale white soul. A shiver runs through me, but I'm away before it's even reached the end of my spine. Feet like ghosts in the dust and slanted sun..

Breathing hard, I spot and swing myself into a new hiding-spot, backing myself into the fleeting shelter of two fallen pillars and in-between-space.

"This is an old game.." I say under my breath, in an attempt to reassure myself. Landlocked and unnerved, it's all I can do until I hear one of two things.. The foreboding patter of feet, accompanied by stranger's voices.. Or (the sound I desperately hope to hear) Riddick's answering signal. I become perfectly still and listen. "O-ld game.."

Thoughts come in on frenetic claw-fingered hands and charcoal feet, crowding the already-cramped crawlspace. _Maybe they locked him up more thoroughly than before. Maybe he cannot move his legs at all. Maybe there is no wall within his reach to kick, like last time. Like last time, like last time, what if this is different than last time-_

The sounds that send these thoughts scattering in fear simultaneously exult me, paralyze me, and prove my previous reasoning wrong. What currently resonates throughout the ship is not _one_ of two things- it is both.

To my right come the footsteps and voices.

From somewhere far below comes the fierce booming of Riddick's responding slam against the wall.

I burst from the hollow and swing myself around the pillar to its left, reaching for the top and hauling myself up, toes scrabbling. I shut my eyes and force down a low cry of effort before finally getting enough lift to curl myself over the top. From there, I make a small hands-first leap for some sort of wide, square tube. The rattle of my impact elicits a disgusted sigh. As I crawl along the top with gritted teeth, I can feel cold air whistling against my skin wherever my palms pass over the tiny metal circles lodged in the thing and holding it together. It transports wind. It must.

I make it to the spot of light I had noticed before. Looking back, I listen briefly and sourly to the traces of the voices rebounding behind me, still too close for peace. Looking up, I realize that the speckles of sun pouring through the ceiling and onto me and the wind-tube are coming through small, rusty squares, a pattern of them, all cut out from the rest of the expanse. A grate. Narrowing my eyes, I raise one hand and press it. _It shifts_. I push harder, breath quickening, and cast another look behind me as the voices momentarily surge. My hair whirls as I turn my face back to the grate, and this time I slam both hands against it. Something creaks and I almost cry out when one of the little circles sunken into the ceiling is torn out, revealing a long, deadly point, a second half secretly driven into the metal. It falls, clattering, coming so close to touching me that I can almost feel my skin tearing. It is the dreadful and dangerous shape of a butterfly tooth and suddenly every piece of this ship seems more terrible a trap to me.

Oh, but the voices.. I can still hear them, I can, and..

Determined, I set my jaw and push one last time. Without the metal tooth holding it to the ceiling, the grate gives way, and it swings open, leaving a new square-shaped hole in the ceiling. I rise from my crouch and ease myself through, looking around me immediately, and I realize.. The ceiling is a ceiling no longer. It is a floor.

I've no time to stop and consider my actions. I dart straight to the nearest wall of the new room, into the sparse shadows. Fear may have forced me into this place, but I will find my way back into the safer places in between ceilings and floors.

The voices have all been left behind in the room below me. This one seems still, abandoned.. I take it in silently as I edge along the wall, looking for sizable holes. Half of the opposite wall consists of a great, shattered window, and glass covers almost the entire floor, like dew. I can see far out into my desert from here. The golden suns scream their blinding chorus directly into this place. I drag my gaze away as my hand finds a sharp edge, and immediately I am gone, ducking away, back into the dark, past wires, past tubes, into the pitch black tear within the wall.

Becoming breathless now, I stop. I curl myself up. I bury my head in my knees, burning eyes falling shut. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I suck in the choking air.

Here they come again to rejoin me- thoughts.

_Why did you go higher? Riddick is down below. He's down deep somewhere, in the cellars of this thing. Why did you go and take yourself higher and farther away?_

I groan softly and scrape my heel against the platform I've found myself on. _Now what are you going to do? Trapped up here, trapped inside-_

My eyes are open in an instant and I'm sitting straight up.

"Not inside.." I whisper, a smile beginning to curl along my face. "Outside."

I spin around and crawl to the edge of the platform, all the way to the wall. Light gives away the nearest window through the cracks in the floor. I follow these to the platform's edge and there it is- a relatively harmless leap downwards. A circular window.

I grin and slide myself out, until my feet dangle inches from the window ledge. Small as it is, it is sturdy. I sink to a crouch, face to face with the curved glass and the sun streaming through it. The shadow I cast into the space behind me is monstrous. Ignoring it, I find as secure a grip as I can with both my hands on the window's lining. Lifting one leg carefully, I brace. And I drive my knee with all the force I can muster through the weakened glass.

Wind moves scaldingly past my face as I clamber out. I vaguely recall the earlier promise I made to myself- the one about 'no climbing'.

"Well," I mumble, setting one foot down on the rickety ledge running the length of the ship's hull as far as I can see. "I'll find _some_ way to make it up to myself.."

Seconds later, the descending yellow suns find me creeping wraithlike along the Hunter's outer edge.

The first opening I come to is all the way down at the back end of the ship, which is about where I figure I want to be. It has a circular cover over it, a solid slab with what seem to be raised designs in the metal. I study it curiously. I notice how the rusted piece that attaches it to the ship is twisted out of shape, leaving it vulnerable and useless. When I lift it up from the bottom, it gives easily, tipping open and revealing a circular entrance that falls away straight into darkness. Smiling quickly, I climb through and find, to my relief, solid ground. I pull the circle back shut above me with a sharp clang and the dimness surrounding me is complete once more.

I exhale and dust whispers.

I turn to face this new hollow place.

The light trickling in from far off in the walls has turned blue. I look to the ground and see criss-crossing patterns of paths. In the empty squares between them, I can see into a room. This place reminds me of.. rafters. But the rafters I knew before had been made of wood..

As my own breathing becomes quiet, I notice a familiar sound. A very slow heartbeat.. And the lazy scuffing of boots.

_Must be just above him._ I grin.

Slipping down through the space between rafter and wall, I find a ledge to sit upon, crossing my legs comfortably. Leaning out and looking down, I see him, seated scarcely an arm's length below me.

His arms are splayed as if bound to an invisible crucifix. There is a slight tilt to his head, as if he were wavering between contemplation and alertness. Or simply waiting for something.. When he hears my arrival, he raises his head, looks straight up curiously, and his gaze climbs sideways until it finds my feet, peeking over the wall, and my smiling face peeking down from above them.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" His deep, level voice echoes through the room. It's like dark silver, maybe. Liquid silver..

I rest my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. "I came to apologize about all this," I answer, truthfully.

He sits back and rests against the wall with a quiet laugh. "So that _was_ your bad boys' work back there.."

"Yes," I reply sadly, but without hesitation. "That little man, yes.." I sigh, lifting my chin and using my hand to sweep all my hair to one side.

"He had it coming," Riddick says dismissively. "Watched him fill some guy with lead before, anyway. Just another survivor, just a really bad mistake.."

"Ah," I continue, in the same unabatingly gentle tone. "It was still no fault of _your's_ that he died.. Neither was the sadness of his lover.. Nor her anger, certainly a thing you did nothing to deserve.."

"You could get me out of these," he says slyly, "and call it even."

"Or.." The lightheartedness in my voice evaporates at the cataclysmic mention of trade. I lean over and look down at him with one brow cocked skeptically. "I could tell you how to get _yourself_ out of those, and _then_ call it even."

Chains rattle as he leans back, the sound nearly infringing on the midnight-colored territory of that surprisingly quiet voice. "I'm listening."

Engaged as I'll ever be now, I draw myself up and rise upon my feet, walking high over his head along the catwalk that divides the room with its long hellebore shadow.

"In my plan," I begin grandly, as I approach the opposite wall. "You do a little talking." I pause to slip down from the ceiling, seeking out metal structures for steps and ending my descent with one resonating leap to the ground. "And my butterflies and I, we do a little.." I draw my hand lazily into the blue air and twirl my fingers as I search for the word. "Convincing."

I glance at Riddick. He sits in a cold maze of shadowy pipes and wires and slashes of colorful sunlight, piercing wherever they can through the ceiling..

His eyes are creased momentarily with that peculiar smile when I come fully into view. They shift to follow me as I begging to wander the tiny room aimlessly, delving further into our shared scheme.

"You send one of your crew," I pose, thoughtfully, "down to me. They will not see me, I should think, but I will be there.. I will keep them from harm. And they will leave knowing that it was not you, not you who stole away that little man.."

I pause in front of Riddick and give him a questioning glance. He nods obligingly to affirm his attention. That ghost of a smile still lingers about the corners of his eyes.

"Would you like to know what you should say to them?" I ask, still slightly dubious. It _is_ a challenge, trying to gauge him..

"Yes please, queenie," he replies, soft as ever, amusement apparent in his tone now, too.

I bite the inside of my lip, my mind never slowing down even when my words do. I cast a last look at him before beginning again. "You should be cryptic." _This won't be hard for him, of course,_ I smile inwardly. "You should not give them a _thing_ to base their expectations on. Otherwise, they will not come. Not if they have any sense.. They should want to come." I grow bored of pacing and seat myself on the edge of a huge, sickled, half-ring structure covered in buttons, rising from the floor, all of its lights cracked and dark. "Tell them how those spires hold every answer. They are lost, and now they have reason to be afraid. Tell them how their fear will have a name.. a face.. some way to kill it.. if they only look inside." I nod, satisfied with this piece of logic. "_Then_ they will come."

"And after that.." he prompts.

"You leave it to me."

He shifts in his seat and my eyes dart over the restraints keeping his arms suspended by the wrists. The fleeting ache of pity makes me bite my lip again and slide off the thing I'd been sitting on, coming closer to him. I reach out to gently touch the shining grey metal that confines him to this bitter corner of the Hunter.

"Why are your people so very quick to treat you like this, Riddick, love?" I ask him softly.

He looks sideways to watch my fingers run down the piece, grazing the inside of his wrist (but only by accident). Then he must refocus on my face, for when I tilt my head to look down at him, his impossible eyes are already on mine. Again, my mind begins sifting through the names of colors, trying to find some match.. crystallized shades slide in and out of focus within his irises, lunar diamonds, elliptical silvers, but then always a restless film of caesious opal, and behind them all the leucochroic color found at the ends of worlds, where skies crash silently into land..

"It's what people are there for," he answers, quietly. "When it comes to me."

I take my hand away and sink to sit attentively on the ledge beside the bench he presides over. Like a throne, like a cell.

"What makes you so different?" I wonder. Then I smile. "Whatever it is, it's going to save you."

"Oh?" he says, laughing, and two enthralling eyes glitter, one delightful mouth curves. "I had it backwards then. Thinking _you_ were going to save me."

I scoff, because I love that he'd say that, because it's ridiculous to say. But it doesn't sound that way from him. Nothing does.

Blue pours steadily down in broken patterns around us. Of course I'm going to save him.

And then comes something strange.

Rather, something _doesn't_ come.

Something feels missing. As though it passed and never happened. And the quiet in the slanted room turns to a faintly perplexing (and perplexed) hush. I look down at my suddenly restless hands, which have decided to seek out scraps of shrapnel in the wall and trace their ceaseless edges, over and over. When I grow tired of that strategy, I raise my eyes. I tilt my head somewhat defensively when I find that his mystifying silvery gaze is still fixated on mine. The missing something burns in my mouth. And someone in me feels sure that she knows what it is.

"I wouldn't do it right, you know," I tell him quickly. My words are offered only in gentleness and matter-of-fact apology, but they still come suddenly for him, and he furrows his brow. I try to elaborate, but I must, must, _must_ be careful. "I wouldn't know how," I say, trying very hard to explain it right.

His tone is guarded now, too. "How to do what, queenie?"

A brief, short-lasting smile tugs at my lips. "Kiss you, of course." I draw my shoulders up in a small, regretful shrug and decide it would be best to lower my eyes again.

"...Oh." The ambiguity of his answer tells me to put my guard up.

"I mean it, I do," I protest, with some force. I look back up at him, attentive to his every action now and making no secret of it. "I'm only trying to be fair to you."

For a moment, he's quiet. Just.. Watching me.

But, then..

"Is it fair, really," he counters, with surprising conviction, sounding almost hurt. "To sit yourself in front of me, and pretend to play with the wall, and look at me- hey, _look at me._ With those big desert eyes you got, and those pretty lips, and you tell me.. tell me I can't even touch them- and you expect me to believe you can talk _circles_ around the starways and sing monsters to sleep, but there's one thing you wouldn't be able to do with them, and that's- and you- you wouldn't be able to _kiss_ me?"

My fingers drift away from the ledge and climb defensively to my chest. Somewhat taken aback, I stare at him, eyes wide. My lips part slowly.

Whatever this is, stirring primal and tentative along my spine, it is not unlike the feeling of losing your wings. Suddenly. Like having them torn, trailing threads and crimson pain and all, from between your shoulders, and then finding yourself falling through the very thing that had been holding you up seconds, _seconds_, ago.

There is no answer.

I _have_ no answer.

He'll have no answer from me.

Only my fingers, reaching out, alighting soundlessly on his chin, near the corner of his mouth. No shifting, no faltering, just one immovable position, just.. there.

I barely breathe as his eyelids fall effortlessly shut. (As if magic is alive again in my fingertips.) He tilts his face, leaving our lips with nothing but a petal-thin sliver of air and a few hopelessly unraveling threads of resistance between them. I wonder vaguely if it's a prayer I feel wavering unspoken on my tongue before distance becomes the taste of cordiform lips and the warmth of skin haunted by hours of sun.


	16. Chapter 14- Repose

The cover falls softly shut behind me, lain back to rest by my fingertips. Wind bites at my back with all the tiny teeth of the sand embedded in it. The surface of the Hunter looks as though it had never even been touched.

I look down. _Metal cliff.._

Something whistles sharply. My head snaps up. A grey blur of movement- ah.

Just a loose piece on the ship, spinning and spinning in its socket. Just old metal. Just strong wind.

My eyes abandon the thing to its spinning and travel along the rooftop wasteland, instead. I find that I am surrounded by a field of platforms, wires, toppled beams like bridges lying heavy on a groaning ground.

Maybe another being would feel small up here. But I've lived in emptiness for much too long.

I remain on hands and feet as I begin to pick my way back to the ledge that led me here. The first rings of weariness have begun to ripple slowly throughout my bones. I want to be home.. home, off the ship, in the sand.. before rings become waves.

I reach the edge of the roof, just above the ledge, and probe below with a curious foot. I connect with smooth, uncomfortably hot footing. A deep breath in.. I lower myself over the edge and guide both feet into position beneath me. Safe footing addressed, I stand straight, assessing the long, narrow walk ahead of me. One hand resting lightly on the wall, I set a brisk pace and lower my eyes to watch my footing, with occasional glances at the mountains on the horizon line. I must be missed..

It's not long until I find the remains of the desecrated window that brought me to this ledge not long ago. I slow my approach before halting altogether, just outside the range of view of any _thing_ that might be standing inside and looking out. I hesitate on the brink of safety for a moment or two.. _They'll be on alert now. Searching, searching, searching, a raucous windstorm of footsteps.._ The image of silhouetted hands, wrapped in a death grip around a jet black gun, enters my mind. The memory of the explosions in the tunnel, a first, a second, a third.. _Blood on fire, burning._ How aggressive these visitors can be, when they mean to..

I edge a breathless bit closer and sink into a crouch. My fingers run, rasping faintly, down the wall. They come to rest on the curve of the window frame that holds the last few shards of glass in place. I lower my head to peer inside..

Silence. Motionless machinery. Nothing shifts but the shadows, as clouds roll over the suns and wander away..

And then it ruptures into the immense rattle- _movement_.

The air screaming around my body mimics the fluid rush of the blood pounding through my veins. I'm as far from the window as I can possibly be within a single heartbeat. One leap past the opening and over the dribble of broken glass, some numberless amount of panicked tiptoe-steps along the ledge, two hands seizing at a protrusion in the wall to keep the rest of me from sailing clean off the edge.. I release a short breath.

I steady myself, clinging to the wall. One breath, two breaths, three. My eyes shut in a moment of relief.

This visit has been so _full_ of close encounters..

I cast a bitter glance over my shoulder. The ledge is empty, the window far behind me now, betraying no sign of pursuit. Did I imagine the footsteps, ringing through the spaces behind the window frame? I wish I could be sure. I crouch, secure a hold on the edge of the broken walkway, and allow myself to dangle from it until my feet find a place to anchor themselves in the wall. I'll never be sure of what I hear or see in such an alien place as this ship.

_Metal cliff._

_Downwards climb._

I release the ledge one hand at a time, holding onto the wall. The descent, the rest of the way down to the sand, is as brief as it can be, with such tired limbs to carry me.. I push off as soon as I safely can, landing and stumbling. The ground swallows my toes as I regain my balance.

"Oh, Eden," I whisper wearily. "Oh, _Eden_."

I can't wander vagrantly out here much longer, exposed in the wasteland, in the dunes outlining the Hunter. I can see the spires of the Beds from here.. Which means my cloak is nearby.

I keep to the significantly narrowed shadows as best I can as I creep around the behemoth. Rounding the bend, I see it- black and fluttering where I left it skewered to the wall.

I close the distance between me and the cloak in a run, slowing with a shower of sand to seize the lazily swirling fabric in both fists. I roll my shoulders and tug. The cloak comes loose and its shadow falls over me like an answered prayer. Smiling sideways, I put the slight revival of strength in my legs to use.

At first my journey is made slow by the invasive detriment of the Hunter, crowding the sands for many footsteps. I dodge the lifeless shrapnel as I go.. Already, the sun and the sand have worked their surfaces dull, and all the pieces that once looked so harshly alien, and glistened with color, now seem to blend, so much so that they can be difficult to avoid.

"Ah-" I hiss, gracelessly favoring the knee that had just slammed into a jutting hunk of metal. "_Trash_."

I draw my cloak in closer, not wanting it to snag. But the shrapnel field is already close to its end. And the Beds are very near.

_Still a ways to go,_ I sigh inwardly. These are the very outskirts of the Beds. I slow further to a walk, weaving around the great sandstone sentinels, searching for one that doesn't look to be too hideous of a climb. I've had enough climbs.. I spot one ahead of me in the haze of heat. A half-collapsed spire, reduced to a vaguely recognizable mound of rubble.. All spires lead to the underworld.

I glance behind me. Just one more time, just to be safe. And maybe to wonder a little. _Riddick_..

But I'm met with nothing, nothing but caustic sun, peculiarly tall rocks, and shadow.

So I turn all my attention to the heap. It's immense, much taller than I am, and it's blocking my way to the inside of the broken spire. Wasting no more time, I select the most persuadable looking rock in the pile, one close to the center, and seize it with both hands wrapped in cloak, bracing against the rest with one foot and leaning back, pulling with all my weight. It rolls, bit by bit, out from its niche. I coax it to its tipping point, slowly shifting my weight. I narrow my eyes, shoulders tensing, and give one last, massive tug. I leap back as it falls.

The rock tumbles to the ground with a series of splitting cracks, punctuated by a final, enormous thud. The pile caves in on the new empty spot, collapsing hungrily and falling away into the hollow tunnel beneath. I cough mildly, holding a corner of my cloak over my mouth, and step further back, waiting for the sand and dust to settle. When they do, an opening is revealed.

"Good," I murmur, approaching again. I gather up my cloak as neatly as possible and knot it around my waist. "Yes."

I clamber over the scattered rocks, eyes fixed on the inviting darkness of the tunnel. Some slip and grind warningly when my toes touch them- I hold my breath. Until I've reached the opening..

There is a small, rocky slope, then sanctuary. I slide down it with haste. Pebbles and broken shards skitter along with me. I hit even ground, and cool air rushes in to envelop me. The sigh of relief comes from every bone in my body. And I'm off once more.

I run down the short tunnel, bursting into one of the caves of the Beds. An excited grin creeps over my face and I call for them. My butterflies.

"Home, butterflies, I'm home!" I call out, hurrying into the next cave. "I'm home, home, I'm here!"

Two obsidian heads appear from behind a nearby corner. Three more peek out from a tunnel across the cave, accompanied by the curious sounds of those waiting behind them. And then come more, down from the ceiling, and their calls swell and fill up the cave, swirling around me, as the rustling myriad of wings do.

"Beautiful, beautiful," I laugh, smiling wide, outstretched hands meeting every nose that comes close. "I love your dances. But be still.." I pull one in by the ridges of her head, sitting in the middle of the floor and touching my forehead to her's, eyes closed. I lower my voice to a calming sigh. "Be still with me."

Wings fold and claws spread on the ground, legs bend to crouch obediently, tails settle, the laughing sounds and the echoes of sounds, together, subside.

I open one eye covertly and appraise my audience. They sit and lie around me like the rings of a tree. Shafts of cloudy orange light pierce the gathering wherever a spire is above us.

One more time, I'm rocked by the relief that I was able to make it back to my butterflies.

"Now, we're going to have a visitor," I begin, leaning in like a conspirator amongst conspirators. "A stranger. From outside," I say. As if they are all one beast, they grow tense, tails rising from the floor. "Prey." A cacophony of approval punctuates the concept, dying down as quickly as it rose up.

I go on. "So we have to hide." This sudden switch of topics confuses them. "Hide," I say again. "And wait." Scattered chirps of protest come from the edges of the assembly, but they are still soft. I take a deep breath in and release the tension in my shoulders. I can make them understand. I can make them understand..

"In the rocks. Staying close to the walls. Away from the floor." I stroke the great head in my lap with steady hands. Concentrating.. "Waiting," I repeat. "It's not time yet."

The protests return in new vibrancy, echoes mingling with outraged chatter. _Why_, they ask me, _we've waited, we've waited, why, why, why-_

I push the head in my lap away and stand, fists curled. "If you don't-" I start, but my voice is harsh. I stop and gather myself. My fingers uncurl. "If you don't," I say, levelly, waiting patiently for their attention. "No more prey will come."

This is, in their simple minds, a contradiction. They claimed a trespasser before. They cannot claim a trespasser now? I do what I can to explain.

"The first stranger didn't know we were here. This stranger.. will know. It wants to see us.. We can't let it see us." I frown as my gaze alights solemnly on each and every rapt butterfly. "We can't take it away, either. If we take it, none of the rest will ever come to us. We can't take so many that the rest grow afraid.."

A few soft sounds of agreement arise. They resettle themselves. I regain my cross-legged seat at the center of the cluster. "So you see now, don't you?" I ask soothingly. "So you see." _We see, we see._

I smile to myself, weariness slowly returning, but now with a sense of small victory. "You do. You're my butterflies," I hum, leaning back against one of the great, cool bodies behind me. They draw closer, in pairs and trios, circling around me with love and curiosity, willowy tails brushing my legs and arms, noses nudging at my shoulders. "My butterflies.."

My eyelids are too heavy now to keep open. The satisfied singing of my butterflies is the last sound to fade away, lost in the rising tide of sleep.


End file.
